


The Journalist

by SidekickKep



Category: The Walking Dead (Video Games)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Drama, F/M, Friendship, I have a whole playlist dedicated to this inevitable angst lol, Inspired by Music, POV Third Person Limited, Romance, Season/Series 01, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-05-04 14:27:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 63,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5337476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SidekickKep/pseuds/SidekickKep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was a reporter-a journalist-and she took great pride in that. She covered hundreds of stories in her career, ranging from local festivals to controversial murders and even international conflicts. But here, holed up in a drugstore in Macon, Georgia, all she could do was watch as the story of the century unfolded before her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Battery

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! First fanfic in a long time, first fic putting up on AO3 and first TWDG fic. Lots of firsts here. This was originally published on FFN, but I'm admittedly looking for more feedback/constructive criticism, even though I'm years late to the fandom (to boot, I haven't even started s2 yet!). Anyways, The Journalist is self-explanatory from the tags: a canon-compliant fic and character study of my (our?) favorite TWD-verse reporter. Hope you enjoy!

 

**The Journalist**

**Chapter One**

**"Battery."**

She had seen him before. She was sure of it.

The moment was a precious one, where time was of the essence. In her off-the-wall agreement with Glenn to save some hopeless band of strangers outside, her concern in that moment was not in the blind hope she could save someone she knew. The feeling that nagged her suggesting she knew this man—a black man in the group of five they'd saved—was not for some subconscious need for relief nor for comfort. It was purely coincidental. In the seconds leading up to their rescue, all she knew was that there were people out there that needed help. And she needed to help them.

The familiar man gave her a warm smile. It was a smile genuine enough to reach the corners of his eyes, one that seemed to flicker with a kind of knowing jest. His name was Lee and he was toying with her.

"Batteries," she heard him mutter to himself as he walked away. He chuckled, shaking his head.

No doubt he must have thought her foolish. Maybe he thought he was helping her with this little broken radio quest she had put him up to. He was eager to help; it was the least he could do after she saved his neck.

As Lee walked away from her, the little girl in his group named Clementine leapt from the box she perched herself on. She took his hand and Lee told her he was going into the office.

"Can I come with you?" the girl asked.

"Sure thing, sweet pea," the man replied. His smile grew far warmer, the corners of his lips only turned up slightly but it was the gentleness in his eyes that softened his smile for the little girl. "Stay close to me, okay?"

"I will."

She would have thought Clementine was his daughter the way Lee looked after her, but a conversation she overheard between Lee and the lanky outdoorsman with the handlebar mustache—Kenny—suggested otherwise. It was obvious they avoided calling Clementine his daughter while Kenny referred to his son and family in every other sentence.

She exhaled as both Lee and Clementine disappeared behind the office door. She looked down at the radio she clutched in her hands.

_Batteries,_  Lee had said.

Of course she knew how batteries worked. What simpleton in this exponentially advancing age of technology didn't? What kind of punch to her self-esteem was that when she failed to check a radio for batteries? She knew how radios worked, how batteries worked.

Carley was a journalist and she took great pride in that. She worked—work _ed_ being the operative word—for a National Public Radio affiliated radio station, WABE. She had experience in video and audio production, in studio and in the field, and all her gear was useless without electricity, whether it be powered by electrical outlets or batteries. Hell, when she ventured into the field to cover stories, she always made sure to carry a pack of double-A Duracells in her purse.

Still, it's not as if her journalistic skills amount to much at world's end. She humored the idea of a documentary. The apocalypse would make for an interesting investigative piece to say the least and it would be even better as a video log or voice diary. Again, not that any of that would be useful right now.

The only things that have kept her alive thus far were that guy Doug over there keeping watch at the pharmacy front door and her handgun. God bless America and God bless the south for their love for concealed handgun licenses.

Funny how that worked out. Before all this, gun control was becoming one of the greatest issues in federal legislation. Increase gun control, impose federal regulation of gun purchases and limits on certain calibers of ammunition, and hold stricter and more detailed and comprehensive background checks. Even when she was embedded in Iraq and Egypt, protected by American soldiers and their assault rifles, she supported domestic movements for gun control.

_Movements for gun control._

_"You moved for the gun_ ," the district attorney yelled in the courtroom. "You  _lost_  control."

_Batteries_ , Lee had said minutes earlier, chuckling.

_"A grand jury has elevated charges against the man suspected of killing Georgia State Senator Samuel Coleson to first-degree murder. The suspect, 37-year-old University of Georgia history professor Lee Everett could potentially face the death penalty. According to hospital officials, Coleson died less than an hour after being admitted to St. Mary's Hospital due to injuries sustained during the battery. As a result, grand jurors elevated Everett's initial charge of aggravated battery to felony murder."_

The radio Carley stared at seemed to blur as the familiarity of Lee Everett sharpened into focus. The radio's distinct metallic edges faded into the haze of the marble counter as the room around her began to tilt. The edges of her vision were fading in black. Holding tight to the radio with one hand and the counter with the other was all she could do to steady herself.

If laughs were called for, she would have said she was grateful to have refused the energy bar Lee had offered her. Now was not an opportune moment for vomiting.

She was in a pharmacy that belonged to the parents of murderer.

She was holed up in this pharmacy with that murderer.

She saved that murderer and let him into this pharmacy.

And he was alone with a little girl at this very moment.

Carley swallowed the vertigo fighting against her and stared at the office door Lee and Clementine were behind. Stealing herself, she walked heavy-footed to the back room. Around her, no one seemed to take notice. Kenny and his wife were caught up in cleaning up their boy, Lilly was trying to soothe her father's stress levels with nostalgic stories and Doug—well, Doug had just turned around from his watch of the drugstore doors and was looking right at Carley.

She smiled at him and he smiled back before going back to his post.

Carley exhaled. God, but Lee was an alright guy... right? He seemed like it, she told herself. He certainly had the much-needed guts to stand up to Lilly and, even more impressively, mouth off to Larry. Not that instigating a chronic heart condition in the geezer was any more welcoming than the hot air that steamed from Larry's blowhole, but Carley would be lying to herself if she failed to admit Lee's arrival was a foil she very much liked. He seemed like a natural leader—or, more accurately put, a reluctant leader. At the very least, he had the guts to stand his ground.

Then again it took guts to kill a state senator.

But who cared if he was murderer? It was the end of the world for all they knew. Frankly, with the collapse of human society—or so it seemed—having a guy on their team who could hold his own could be quite advantageous if push came to shove. It would be good to have Lee around, provided he wasn't a danger to the group. He seemed level-headed, logical and good-natured as evidenced by their group spat when Carley and Glenn rescued his group, so unless Lee was a particularly adept sociopath, there was nothing to worry about. If worse came to worst, they could just kick him out.

But the girl, Clementine . . . . Carley had little experience with children but it didn't take a mother to know Clementine liked Lee.  _Trusted_ Lee. While shy, she looked at him with admiration, a stranger who saved her life. And it didn't take a lot to see Lee cared for the girl too.

With a record like his, Carley couldn't be too careful.

Whatever Lee was up to, whatever moral compass he abided by, Carley knew that girl—that young, innocent girl—did not need to be exposed to any more examples of the vileness of humanity than she'd already seen.

Carley wrapped her hand around the knob of the office door. She slowly turned it, pressing her weight against the door just enough for her to slide through into the office. The room was quiet and dimly lit. In her peripheral vision, she saw pallets and tables pressed against both a back exit door and the pharmacy door. On the floor laid a bloodied mattress.

Clementine was looking at her, the girl standing quietly next to the door Carley had just come from. Carley brought a finger close to her lips, requesting the girl keep silent. She nodded bashfully.

Lee's back was turned toward her. He was holding something she couldn't quite make out. Whatever it was, he tore it in half. It sounded like paper. Maybe a photo.

"Find anything?" Carley called out.

She felt a glimpse of satisfaction course through her as Lee jumped, startled by her sudden arrival. He turned toward her, letting one half of the torn artifact fall to the ground. Unluckily for him, it fell face up. The discarded piece was a photo of Lee.

Carley turned to glance at him before he could tell the photo landed face up. He seemed adamant to withhold the truth from her.

"It's a photo of the family who owned this place," he said optimistically. "It might help us track down the keys to the office."

There it was again—that gentle smile. His students at UGA must have thought him something paternal. It wouldn't work on her though. Not after what she knew.

"I know who you are," she said plainly.

Lee's demeanor instantly changed. His smile, a frown. His refined, yet energetic posture, defensive. The calm in his eyes were shadowed and muddled with pain.

"You're Lee Everett," Carley continued. "You're a professor at Athens who killed a state senator who was sleeping with your wife. This is your parents' store; folks around town know the owner's son got himself a life sentence, but I'm a reporter for WABE in Atlanta. I paid attention to that trial."

Lee crossed his arms.

"Maybe you're a murderer," Carley added. "But I don't really care. Frankly that's a skill that might come in handy."

Judging by the frown, crossed arms, and the subtle murderous glare turned desperate plea, she knew Lee didn't believe her. Carley wasn't sure which bit he didn't believe: whether or not she cared about him being a murderer or if being a murderer would be a handy bullet point for his impending-apocalypse resume.

The plan was to confront him, go in guns blazing, but she didn't—couldn't. Even with his defiant demeanor, there was something likable about him, something that encouraged second chances. Maybe Lee was innocent. He seemed like too good a guy to have murdered a state senator but even as she followed the trial, the evidence stacked against him was too much.

Murderer or not, at the rate she directed this conversation, Lee would maybe trust her. He'd be thinking of her as an ally.

And that wasn't a bad thing.

"Did you tell anyone out there who you were, or that you were tied to this place?" Carley asked hastily.

"What's it to you?"

"To  _me_? I'm not the one with a felony record," Carley retorted quickly. "Look, if you don't think people will find any reason to turn on you, especially when shit hits the fan, you're insane."

"Shit's  _already_ hit the fan, lady!"

"So did you tell anyone?"

Lee chewed on his answer before responding. "Not outright," he said. "I've been sticking to first names for a reason."

" 'Not outright,'?"

Lee unfolded his arms and leaned back as if assessing her. Finally, he exhaled and folded his arms over his chest once again.

"Kenny and his family know I'm from Macon," he started. "They wanted to know if we should go looking for my family. I declined. Lilly asked if I knew anyone who worked in this pharmacy. I told her the owners and I were close."

The next question would have been "where would your family be then, if they owned this place?" but the bloodied mattress inches to her left was enough of an indicator. There was enough salt in his wounds as it were.

"You're awfully honest," Carley said.

"It's not about me," he responded. "And given what you know, I don't have much else going for me. As for the rest of them-" Lee gestured past the door- "I have to do what's best for Clementine."

Lee exhaled. He was exhausted. And while his eyes darted briefly to Clementine and then around the room—a sign she read as nervousness—he curled his lips in that well-meaning smile. And for some reason, it pained Carley to see it.

"You seem like an okay guy," Carley said. "And the last thing we need is drama out there. You've got this little girl to take care of and-" she shook her head, "look, don't make me wrong on this."

He stepped forward, lessening the gap between them. Her step back and admission to tone it down was fuel for a quick offense for him, a show of grit. The way he hovered over her covered the ceiling light behind him, casting him in a silhouette and keeping her in shadow.

"I don't plan to," he said.

"Good. Because if this lasts longer than a few days and you're a detriment to the group, then we'd have a problem."

"I hear you."

His glare and the gruffness of his voice bordered threatening. He knew the stakes, just how much he was risking. He didn't need anyone to tell him what he could lose.

"I'll just keep it to myself," Carley settled.

"How can I trust you?"

"You can't, I suppose. But you don't have many other options." She turned her back to him, moving to return to the pharmacy floor. She glanced once more over her shoulder with a knowing smile—a jesting smile, brief and crafted well enough for him to see she was reflecting the look he gave her minutes ago on her battery dilemma.

"Wait," Lee called out as she reached for the doorknob.

Carley stopped.

"Thanks," he said, his voice soft and even.

She looked away, hiding her own grin from him. She liked that—appreciated that he was grateful and felt warm knowing he seemed to trust her, however reluctant a trust it was.

"Don't worry about it," she finally said.

But once on the other side of that door, her smile faded. She rested her back against the door, sliding slowly to the floor in a physical depiction of a drawn-out sigh.

Every bit of logic told her to stay away from this guy. He's a convicted felon, a convicted murderer. To boot, she didn't want to think he was a predator either. The investigative journalist in her wanted to uncover this and the humanity in her wanted to make sure this little girl was safe.

But her gut told her she could trust him. She wanted to trust him.

And if it came down putting Lee on a meter of whether or not she liked him being in their group, she would have to say she did. She liked him. For now.

 


	2. You Do Radio

** The Journalist **

** Chapter Two  **

** "You Do  Radio" **

She needed to move.  As much as she needed to take a breath  and as relaxing as it was to sit slumped on the floor,  she had to move . Move  b efore anyone could notice her and  move  before Lee slammed the door  into her back . Exhaling, she  stood and  ran her hands through  her hair. The ebony color of her roots gave way to the dye of  dark and light browns and even  auburn  reds— bases  and highlights that would eventually fade. A few strands came loose,  tangling  in her fingers.

A voice on the other side of the door s tartled her.

"Lee?" The  voice was muffled but understandable through the door. It  belong ed  to Clementine. 

"Yeah?"  Lee  responded.

"Y-you're not bad, right?" Clementine sounded hesitant. Scared, almost. 

"I—uh—why are you asking me that?"

"That lady said you killed someone. Was that because he was one of the things trying to eat you?"

Carley  closed her eyes , leaning the back of her head against the door.  What she wouldn't give to have had more tact when confronting Lee. 

It  took so long for Lee to respond, Carley was afraid she had missed it.

"No," Lee finally said. "He wasn't."

"Oh ....  Was he bad?"

" ... H e was." 

Carley heard the doorknob being grabbed behind her just as Clementine asked another question.

"I s it okay to kill someone if they're bad?"

" That's —uh—very complicated to answer." He paused before speaking again. " It depends mostly. "

"On what they did?"

"On ...  if  you can handle it , " he said. " But you should never have to hurt  someone, Clem. Never hurt anyone.  Come  on." 

Carley exhaled.  She  skirted  back to  the counter,  making herself look busy as  she fidget ed  with the radio.  She managed to catch Doug's  curious  eye,  but  Carley quickly looked away—no doubt Doug would approach her later with questions.

She watched  stealthily  as  Lee  gestured for Clementine to come back onto the store floor. Kenny  wave,  gestur ing  for Clementine to join his family, maybe so his boy—Duck, was it? —could start feeling a bit more like himself. 

Carley found herself thinking she agreed with offbeat remark, that she didn't care about Lee's past.  She was concerned, yes, for her safety, for the safety of that little girl, for the safety of the group, but  past lives , what did they matter now? They didn't, n ot in this kind of crisis. What mattered now wasn't what you've done, but what you know and what  you can do. It was those two things that would keep them alive. 

She hated to admit it, but  this  was survival of the fittest. 

Flashy  movements in the corner of her eye grabbed her attention. Doug waved his arms with the most dramatic flares trying to get  Carley's  attention. Having finally received it, he gestured for her to come over to the door.

"You ready to switch out?" Carley asked as she approached him.

"No." He shook his head, the mop of straw-colored hair on his head damp with drying sweat. He gestured for her to peak out the window, but she got the feeling he didn't intend to show her the circus of undead freaks parading the streets.

"What was that about ?" he  whispered to her. 

"What?"

"You know what .  That guy—Lee—what'd he say to you when you went into the back room? You didn't look so good coming out. Do you know him?"

Carley bit the inside of her lip. 

"I appreciate  the  concern, Doug."

"Yeah?"

"But  don't worry about it."

Doug grimaced, doing a terrible job of hiding his unease. He was trying, Carley could tell, as he stole not-so-subtle glances in her direction  while  she faked  staring  past the window blinds. 

"Listen,"  Doug  said , turning toward Carley and she toward him.  "I can't take him, not in words and definitely not in a fight. And I'm not looking for either. But w e' re  all in this  together . I f there's something that's going to cause a rift between all of us, I think  the group  ha s  a right to know. " 

Carley  sm i led  softly and Doug mirrored the act. She would have liked to tell him, of course. She owed him that much—and much more—for saving her life. But Carley needed to keep who Lee was a secret.

It wasn't anything new to her, keeping secrets. While her career as a reporter centered around just that—reporting information to the public—she found there was a special privilege in being in the know: that sometimes if you keep your trap shut, you get more information. It was J ournalism 101. Keep your  sources safe . Keep your promises. And don’t make promises you can't keep. And while secrecy surely wasn't going to get her far when survival odds increased with group cooperation, there were things bigger than maintaining individual and personal relationships. God knows she had sacrificed many a good relationship—both personal and professional—by compromising  integrities . And as much as she liked Doug, her budding feelings for him meant nothing if it meant guilt would slowly eat at her inside for being responsible for the deaths of a man and a little girl.

"Thank you, Doug , "  she said.

"You don't owe me anything, you know," he said. "I mean, for earlier—back there at the  f estival. I just want us to be honest."

"That's fair ...  for all of us."

"Yeah."

"You sure you don't want to switch out? "

"I'm—haha—I'm good," he chuckled. "Door watching  isn't exactly the most exhausting job, that's for sure. But it's necessary."

Carley nodded and out of the corner of her eye saw Lee approaching. 

"I'll get back to you, Doug. Gonna go check on that radio. Yell if you need to switch. "

She made eye contact with  Lee as they both approached the radio counter. 

"Hey there," he said.  He was amicable, as if their little exchange in the back room hadn't happened.  She read that as a potentially  good sign. "It's still not working?"  he  asked.

He gestured  to the radio on the counter. To be  fair ,  Carley  hadn't put much effort into working on it  since Lee had given her the batteries. Sure, she played with the dial  now , hoping she could pick up WABE, but she wasn't nearly as invested in it as before she realized who Lee was. 

"Yeah, I can't figure it out," Carley said. 

"Let me have a look at that thing, " Lee offered.

"Go  ahead."

She watched over his shoulder as he flipped the batteries in the radio.  She could tell by the slight curl of his lips and the concerned furrow of his brow that he was amused... and probably worried. Carley  felt about as intellectually competent as those ghoul-things outside  realizing her mistake . Was she really so out of it mentally that she failed to insert the batteries in the proper direction ? 

"You fixed it," Carley said . She hoped her enthusiasm  was  convincing enough to fool Lee as he  tapped  on the power button . A  familiar voice suddenly spurr ed  to life from the radio.

"As the unknown  contagion  continues to spread unchecked, the estimated death toll continues to skyrocket," the  disc  jockey  said. "WABE urges you to stay indoors and avoid any contact with individuals you suspect may have been exposed."

"The station is okay!" Carley said,  instantly rec ognizing  the reporter was her coworker Steve .

"In the event of a full—uh—my producer is telling me we have to get off the air."

"Steve," she heard herself whisper. Screams and static emitted from the radio, attracting the attention of the rest of the group. 

"WABE wishes you and your loved ones--"

"Steve . . . " Carley whispered, gripping the radio as more  high  pitches of static  screeched  through . "Come on . . . . "

"God bless you all," Steve said before the station was cut off. 

No , she wanted to say.  No  was all she could think. She stared at the radio in disbelief . H er fingers  were on the dial, ready to change  stations, but  she couldn't. H er fingers were locked, unable to twist the  knob . As  much as she wanted to know how the rest of the city, the country, the world faired, she couldn't believe WABE would just sign off so quickly.  T hey were the voice, they were the news, they were the media.

"Nothing can silence the media!" Steve had said when once when the station was first threatened with budget cuts. His statement was in carefree banter, an in-station play-tantrum. A t that time, when she was but an intern, his short  statement summed up the romantic beauty  of  the pipedream that was journalism and freedom of speech.  It was those words that inspired her, that ignited  a passion in her she didn't know she could sum up in five words. It was the greater good, the right for the public— for  the people— to  speak, to listen, to  know .

Steve was her mentor at WABE. A veteran of  local  radio  and T.V. reporting  with experience in  Savannah, New Orleans and Houston, Steve was the on-air talent and , as cheesy as it sounded,  the spirit of  WABE . He showed  Carley  the ropes when she first came on as an intern  pursu ing  her undergrad,  and she was pleasantly surprised to find him still there when  she was given a field reporter position after freelancing as an embed ded journalist  in the Middle East.  When  budget  cuts rolled around  yet again and the  station  needed to let go of some of their staff,  Steve  fought  to keep her. H e was the one who  even  hooked her up with the  Cherry Blossom Fesitval  gig. 

Steve had to be okay. He wouldn't leave the station just like that. Even if Don, his producer, ordered  he get off air. There had to be something bigger. They were either in immediate danger or being rescued and were taking a temporary hiatus. The hiatus wouldn't be long, Carley rationalized. It would only be  until they could set up again at a military base or wherever they were transferring to. 

A  hand  g rip ped  her shoulder and she startled. She'd forgotten Lee was still there.

" That radio  signoff  didn't sound too good," he said needlessly. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she answered quickly. 

"You don't have to be," he said, his tone kind. "It's traumatic."

"I'm sure  s ome  people got out,"  Carley  responded.  "Maybe  they're  all being rescued. "   She had to be optimistic. She had to think they were all right.  Imagining the station getting airlifted out was one thing—hopeful,  dreamworthy  maybe if things were as bad as out there as it was—but hearing herself say they were being rescued? She refrained from scoffing at herself. 

"But then again, maybe not," she admitted.

Lee removed his hand from her shoulder and leaned with his back against the counter.  H e looked so natural doing that, so relaxed . He must have done it hundreds of times on this counter, leaning on it the way he did.  He glanced up at the ceiling, probably picking out a speck in the tile s  where  he threw pencils up when he was kid.

"Story of the century here, huh?"  he  said, shaking his head  and finally looking at her.

"Yeah, " she sighed. A chuckle  esc aped  her lips, "And  I've got shit for recording equipment.  B y the looks of it, there isn't going to be a shortage of firsthand accounts."

They each looked around at their  small party. It went without saying  the re  had to be more of them out  their surviving. "Where were you when the dead walked the Earth?" would  be the tagline and the catchall interview question .

"You do radio?"  Lee asked.

"That's right. Well, until some piece of shit politicians yank our funding  and I hit the blogosphere."

"You were laid off before all this, " Lee concluded. 

"Just before. The Cherry Blossom Festival  I  said I  was  in town for ? "

"Yeah?"

" That was a  freelance gig for the station. Had the van, my  old producer . . . we were just ready to go like a regular day.  I t was like I still worked there. "

"Would you rather be there? At the station?"  He gestured his head out in the  general  direction of Atlanta.

"I—I don't know. " Carley looked at the radio in her hands . She  silentl y  wish ed  the station would come back on air , could hear Steve or Leah or Will's voice stutter on air with a hasty apology and then go back to reiterating the news .

" It sounded like  Atlanta was hit pretty bad compared to here ," she said. " I don't know if I'd have made it."

" For what it's worth ,  I'm glad you're here , "  Lee said.

She thought him unusual for saying, giv en  he knew what she knew. The skepticism must have shown on her face because Lee quickly  withdrew .

"Yeah," he said. "I better get back to it."

Unsure of what to say, Carley settled with a  "Yep ."

"Thanks, by the way , "  Lee  said, glancing one more at her, his grin reappearing. They both knew what he was referring to, and he seemed to have said it to reassure her that he was grateful she was there and could keep his secret. Perhaps, Carley thought, he was convinced she accepted hi s past. Perhaps  that gave him the optimism to think maybe the group—should they ever find out about his felony—could accept him too.

As much as she appreciated Lee more or less wearing his heart on his bloodied sleeve, they had to remember they were within earshot of everyone else. She kept her voice hard and solemn to emphasize the gravity of his secret.

"Don't mention it ," Carley  said. " Just remember what I said."

"Yeah. I will." 

Both Carley and Lee turned at the sudden sound of Clementine's radio going off, Glenn's voice struggling to be heard above the static. Clementine pulled out her walkie-talkie  and held it close to her mouth as Lee made his way toward her.

"Hey there, this  Glen n ,"  he  said. "And, uh, I'm kinda in a jam here. Uh, little girl, if you're there, can you put your daddy on the phone? Or on the talkie, or whatever?"

The girl offered the talkie to Lee. 

"This is Lee," he said. He kept his voice low and hushed. "What's up?"

"Sooooo, I'm down at that motor  inn  and, well, I—I'm  stuck."

"Stuck?"

 "Yeah, I, uh, saw a chance to get some supplies for the group and a bunch of the roaming ones got the jump on me. I'm hiding over here but they won't leave."

Kenny  drew  closer to Lee, and with their conversation so hushed, he asked, "What's up?"

"Glenn's trapped down at the motor  inn ," Lee answered. To  the talkie, he said, "Hey Glenn, we're gonna talk it over and send a group to come get you, all right?"

"Phew, awesome. I'll sit tight 'til then."

"Sounds good." Lee exhaled and looked to Clementine.  "I'm going to hold onto this until we get Glenn back, okay? I'll take good care of it."

The girl nodded.

"What do you think?" Kenny asked.

"I think Doug's not great  around zombies, and you've got your family here," Lee said. 

Carley was impressed by his quick turn-around. It had taken him all of his thirty second exchange with Glenn to assess the pros and  cons of who he wanted to take  to rescue Glenn. The fact that he was sentimental enough to know that he couldn't risk losing Kenny with his family here despite Kenny certainly being more of a physical character than Doug showed some real heart in the guy. And  not to  cross  Doug, but he  wasn't the most physically adept  guy in the group, though Carley admired his moral fortitude and willingness to get things done. Still, it wasn't as if Lee  could take  Lilly or Larry with him, which left ....

"I'll take  Carley  and her dead-eye down to the motor  inn , get Glenn and get back here as fast as I can."

"If that's what you want to do," Kenny settled.

"Somebody's got to."

"Yeah, I'm in," Carley said, stepping forward.

"Good," Lee nodded. "It doesn't sound too bad there right now."

"All right. Let me known as soon as you want to head out," she said. "I could use a jog."

Granted, she wore a pencil skirt and  low  heels, but hey, it's not like she had much of an option when it came to getting physical. As she checked her handgun — a habit she'd gotten accustomed to in the hours she'd spent holed up in the drugstore— she watched  as Lee said goodbye to Clementine.

"Look," he began.  "I know I'm not your dad but if you need anything, I'm your guy, okay?"

"Okay," she said .  "Same."

"You're my guy?" he  joked, his lips curling up in jest. 

"Oh—no! You know .... "

 "We're gonna try to care of each other."

"Yes," she agreed happily.  "Deal."

"I'm gonna head out now with  Carley  and bring back Glenn, all right? You sit tight here.  If you need anything while I'm gone, Kenny will take care of it, okay? "

"Okay. " She reached forward and grabbed Lee's hand. "Hurry back?"

"I'll be back before you know it ." He squeezed her small hand before letting go and walking to Carley. 

"You ready to head out?" he  asked.

"You got it.  You?"

"Yeah."

"Let's go."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you hear that? It's the sound of headcanons erupting.

** The Journalist **

** Chapter Three **

** "Walker." **

Lee said he knew where they were going. The mo tor  inn  was only a couple of blocks out from the pharmacy and he reassured Carley by saying he knew all the ins and outs of downtown Macon, especially in this immediate area. The Travelier Motel, a  short  jog away from the drugstore, was also  geographically away from downtown Macon. Lee was optimistic the two of them  alone  could handle the trip, theorizing the walker population would lessen the further they got from the city. It was why he let Glenn, apparently also a Macon native, do the supply run on his own.

"Less people, less walkers," he said. 

That's what he called them, walkers. Carley quite liked that. It was less discerning than the horror movie classics she used, they being "creeps" and "ghouls." Walker wasn't intimidating; it didn't carry the scent of chainsaws and cold nights in abandoned cabins. Walker was descriptive; they couldn't run  and s he had yet to see one do more than gracelessly lumber like a drunken man failing to catch last-call public transportation. And, best of all, walker reminded Carley of mall-walkers, those lovely ladies in their off-brand tracksuits, polished white  pleather  sneakers and their 2-pound dumbbells. Oh, how they would swing them around and power walk heel-to-toe, gliding effortlessly on the pristine linoleum tiling of indoor super shopping centers. How much more casual could you get with monsters that wanted to bite your face off? 

Lee  gladly  took point  while  Carley walked a short step behind him, making sure she had him covered with her gun drawn and pointed down to her side. She triple checked the safety mechanism, keeping it set to on. Leaving it off might prove disastrous if she were to accidentally pull the trigger in a non-dire situation, fueled by jumpy adrenaline. They both agreed using the weapon  c ould make  a  bad situation  worse .

"Best if we just skirt around them," Lee advised  as they approached a small party of walkers . 

And skirt around them they did. Around cars and trash cans, peaked around corners and objects, crouched and sped-crou ched through precarious areas as light on their feet as they could . I f there were too many walkers in their way and a feasible detour was impossible, Lee would hurl a brick or a glass bottle  in the opposite direction  and create a distraction decent enough for them to get through. 

After chunking a baseball through an abandoned car's windshield and triggering the car alarm, they made their final turn up ahead. From there, there would be nothing but the road, the forest and the motor  inn . It was one long stretch without any cover. It would be a long walk, Lee warned.

Thankfully as they came upon that road, they saw nothing. The road was empty, lifeless and barren, as if it was a regular Wednesday night, one that hovered on the blurred line that separated a late night from an early morning. A light fog  floated  in the distance, far beyond the motel and would bear no concern to the party beyond possibly camouflaging a fatal herd of walkers—a worse-case-scenario so frightening Carley deliberately chose not to relay the possibility to her companion. The fog seemed to  surroun  the road,  going deep into the recesses of the forest that flanked their right side. 

On their left was a continuous stretch of the backs of buildings, each separated by a small alley captured either by noisy, but sturdy chain-link fences and impenetrable brick walls. Despite being caught vulnerable in the outdoors, they felt safe. They saw no danger, and while neither knew  if  danger could see them, the preventative measures they took needed no reiterations: stick  to  soft steps and hushed voices.  

"Coincidence, huh?" Carley started, if only to break the silence on their trek. 

"You could be referring to anything and I would probably agree," Lee said. 

"Your truck runs out of gas  in front of your family's pharmacy," she clarified. "You could call that divine intervention." 

"Could be. Could be fate, luck... coincidence, like you said. Divine intervention is probably not the greatest choice of words." 

Carley thought him  unneccesarily  witty, but she appreciated the cheek, if only for the entertainment. Divine intervention, huh? It would be nice if they could get a bit of that and say, eradicate this plague, she thought. She chose, rather, to  pry a little more into  Lee.

"Did you mean to stop here in Macon?” she asked.

"We pushed the truck as far as she could go without getting out," he answered, his tone straightforward and automatic. He paused, and a slight twitch in his jaw suggested he was chewing over his next words. When he spoke again, his voice was more subdued, and Carley suspected this was not because he wanted to avoid detection by the walkers. "We were lucky to have stopped there, at the store," he said. "I—uh—I did want to see if my family was okay." 

"I'm sorry,"  Carley  said.  

She slowed her pace, expecting Lee to stop, but he continued walking. He looked ahead, staring vaguely toward the orange glow of the Travelier Motel.   

"They're ... gone ," he said finally. He  didn't say dead, but Carley knew his meaning . Lee may not have known this, but  the  image of the stained mattress in the office  was still fresh in  Carley's  head . Even before that, Carley  recalled  Larry dragging two bodies from the office, chunking them unceremoniously in the back alley when she, Doug and Glenn  first  rolled up to the pharmacy. It was how they met, and it was telling of Larry with how he disposed those bodies.  

"Lee...."  Carley didn't want him to press further. He didn't owe her a tale because of what she knew about him. He didn't owe her a tale to add substance to what would otherwise be a quiet stroll. 

He stopped walking  and she reached out to him.  Her hand fell short, just inches before her fingers could reach his forearm, and she pulled back, hesitant.

"Just wish I could've been there when this happened," he muttered. 

He continued to look forward, down the street, beyond the motel and even beyond the creeping fog far ahead of them. His head gradually tilted up at the night sky. The stars were few and far between for being in the city, but Carley could make out a handful of the brighter ones hanging above the forest. They shone just enough to lighten the treetops surrounding the street they walked on. She was sure some of those trees shone in pink, like the cherry blossoms she never got the chance to see.  

"We never got along well, my family and I," Lee continued. " B ut still, they were family." He exhaled and finally he turned to her and they continued walking.   

"I understand," she said. She swallowed. "You don't have to talk about this if you don't want to." 

His response was silence. Carley feared the worst in Lee, that perhaps her prying questions triggered some kind emotional response in him she didn't know yet how to deal with. If nothing else, she could walk and so she did. The motel was within eyesight and  there was no reason for Lee to lead the way . Perhaps her taking the lead for a while would be good for him. He could trail behind, get lost in his thoughts and hopefully not be overtaken with familial regrets. There were enough unthinking walkers out here looking for a meal without Lee having to chew himself out.

"Clementine,"  s he   said . "She's not... yours. "

"No, she's not," he said. He was closer than she expected and she turned to look at him.  He was only a step behind. " How did you know?" 

" I  didn't," she  responded.  "More of a guess."

"Really?" He sounded amused. "How?"

"Just had a feeling." A playful smile tickled at her lips and he didn't question it. They walked side by side now.

"I told the first groups of people I met that I was 'just some guy'," he added. "But that doesn't go over well with people. I found her while I was looking for help after my first... 'incident,' I guess. She'd been alone for the past couple of days. Her babysitter had turned and she'd been living in her tree house." 

"That's horrible." 

" She thinks her folks are in Savannah but, well, I played some messages on her answering machine and...." Lee shook his head, preferring to convey the outcome of her parents' fate without using words. 

"Oh no." Carley couldn't imagine that pressure Lee faced each time Clementine brought up her parents—and she must have brought them up, as worried as a child would be. "You don't plan on telling her, do you?" She asked.

Lee shook his head again. " I don't have the heart to.  And  she wouldn't believe me anyways." 

"So  what is the plan ?" 

He shrugged. "Keep her close. Protect her the best I can. She wants to find her parents but, alive or otherwise, it's a longshot. I'm just looking to keep her safe." 

"You don't have kids," Carley remarked.

"No," he affirmed. "No kids." He turned in her direction, his eyes squinting curiously as his lips turned up in a prying smile. "You know, you're getting an awful lot of information out of me for someone who's followed my trial." 

"Force of habit," Carley admitted.  

She could tell Lee about how she had chronicled his  life story  because of the senator murder . Reporters would start from investigation and move on to his indictment then to his trial and to sentencing like a monotonous, tried and true plan. She'd fished quotes from government officials friendly with the late senator, harassed law enforcement for details on the case, and camped out in front of classrooms at the University of Georgia, hoping to get the jump on some of Lee's colleagues before the start of  the universally-hated 8 a.m. class . To a regular person, it might seem like completely dedicating herself to this story, but this was just another day at the office for her. I t was just another story, just another project amidst other daily tasks  she  juggl ed . So she knew the dirty laundry about Lee Everett.  Of course  she knew he had no kids.  

"How about you?" he asked suddenly with  a curious smile and a tilt of the head. 

"No kids," she said.  

"Husband, boyfriend? ...Uh, girlfriend?"  

Carley guessed being a college professor made Lee politically correct. Especially when speaking to a journalist?  Hah.  Carley entertained the idea of Lee being media trained for the university, an awkward tactic for UGA had that been the case. It's not like history professors made for very demanding go-to sources.

"None of the above," she responded. "Never married. My parents said I was too dedicated to my career to appeal to the masses of men who wanted a stay-at-home wife." 

"Ouch," Lee said,  placing a hand over his heart. "Tell me that's a joke."  

"I'd be lying if I did."

"So where are your parents? Don't you want to look for them?" Lee asked.  

"Couldn't even if I tried," she said. "They and my siblings left for the Philippines a week ago for a family vacation. I would be there if I hadn't signed up to cover the Cherry Blossom Festival." 

"Do you think they're all right?" he asked. "I would guess being on an island is better than a continent right now." 

"I'm not sure. It depends on where in the Philippines they are. I have extended family out there who live in rural areas, but I also know the cities are popular tourist attractions. They could be anywhere." 

"Don't take this the wrong way but...." Lee cocked his head in one direction then the other, making a noncommittal gesture. His eyebrows furrowed together in concern as if hoping his next words wouldn't cross a line. "You don't seem worried."  

"I don't know," she admitted. "I guess like you, my family and I weren't close." 

"What, you murdered someone sleeping with an ex-boyfriend?" 

She shot him a glare. The kind of nerve that man had to joke about a felony conviction, about murde r no less.  As she opened her mouth, a harsh scolding burning on her tongue, Lee raised both hands in apology,  as if pressing an invisible shield between himself and Carley.

"I'm sorry! Too soon?" he asked regretfully. 

" Do you even have to ask? " she responded, her voice somber. 

She exhaled, wanting to return to the original topic. It was peculiar, looking for a sense of normalcy between the rock and a hard place that was having a casual conversation with a convicted murderer and  rescu ing  an errand boy from  walking corpses . 

"My parents and I never got along well," she admitted. "I guess you could say it started when I decided to pursue journalism instead of a medical career, but there were lots of small things that contributed to the tension. We came to a head when I told them I'd be spending a couple of years embedded in  Iraq and later Egypt freelancing for Current TV. They didn't like that."

"They didn't like you advancing your career?" 

"They didn't think I could handle myself. Speaking in context, I have a cousin and a brother who received Purple Hearts during their tours in the Middle East." 

"They were concerned about your safety." 

"I didn't need to be micromanaged and that's how they treated me. I've spoken to them only a handful of times since I came back stateside and that was two years ago." 

"So what about the Philippines? You said you were supposed to be there . " 

"It was supposed to be a family reunion—a retreat, I guess. It was implied we could all come together and start over. I, uh, just wasn't ready. So I took the Cherry Blossom Festival story and here I am."  

"Huh." 

As agonizing a stretch this road was, the motel was drawing closer and their lighthearted conversation would soon be silenced for the sake of safety. Though they spoke in light whispers and stole security glances over their shoulders, the hushed mini-autobiographies they exchanged diluted the intensity of their anxieties and delayed the onset of adrenaline rushes and crashes. It was a nighttime stroll with a friend in an unfamiliar neighborhood; each comforted by the other's presence, yet perturbed by their unusual circumstances.   

"We're here," Lee announced.

"Great," Carley responded. "Now where's Glenn?" 

Lee pulled out his talkie. As he was about to press the push-to-talk button, Carley thought she would take the opportunity to check out the property—get a feel for how overrun the area was.  

"Shit! Get down!"  

She ducked before she even knew why. That was the instinct of years embedded in a war zone  still ingrained in  her. As she turned toward Lee in the moment, she  caught  only a brief glimpse of the walker approaching her before she disappeared behind the half-wall, slipping off the safety  on her handgun in that same motion. She kept the gun close, ready ,  though she prayed she need not use it. Lee was crouched next to her in a hunched, peculiar position . B oth of them look ed  up ,  hoping they were in the walker's blind spot.  

She and Lee exchanged glances briefly, each conveying to the other in heart-pounding silence to maintain that silence while praying each of them could hold still. Carley begged herself to calm down, concerned her heart beating in her chest would give the two of them away and she clenched her jaw hard as a way to tame the adrenaline that so badly wanted her to move. She felt the dull ache slowly pound away in her mouth from her clenched jaw. She now feared having to resort to her handgun not only because of the noise it would emit, but because of how slippery her hands were getting, and that now she wouldn't have the proper form because her leg was falling asleep underneath her.

Finally the walker turned and abandoned his patrol of the half-wall and both she and Lee exhaled sighs of relief. Lee attempted to trade a well-meaning smile, but Carley was too hardened to entertain their good fortune with a grin; they were still exposed and smiles of comfort could come after they finished their mission.  

Now if they could just find Glenn.


	4. Mirror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skipped the rescue-Glenn-fail-to-rescue-Irene scene as the in-game scene is pretty self-explanatory, even from Carley's point of view. So this takes place after Irene offs herself at the motel.

** The Journalist **

** Chapter Four **

** " Mirror ." **

Glenn slammed  his foot onto the accelerator. The  early 2000s mid-sized sedan spurted to life with  as much fervor as a sickly vehicle could without blow ing its high-mileage engine, and  bolted from th e motel parking lot. All  three of the unseatbelted passengers  careened  in oddball directions  as the driver swerved twice before  finally  settling  down. The road was straight and there were no obstacles. They were safe.

Glenn's breaths were both rapid and heavy--far heavier and louder than either of his passengers, his shoulders visibly heaving up and down with each passing moment. While he fidgeted in the front seat, Carley felt her skin tickle with unease at how often he checked his rearview mirror. Of course, Glenn was looking out for the walkers, probably too pumped from the adrenaline rushing in his veins to find solace in the long road ahead. He wasn't interested in making eye contact with Carley, his backseat passenger, but she found it startling how often he glanced in the mirror, only to accidentally catch her eye.

"We're okay," Lee said. His arm rested on the ledge of shotgun-side door and he stared past the window, watching old buildings creep by. Carley thought it must have been a bittersweet nostalgia for him to see these places crawl by from the seat of a car. And the sweet was definitely lacking.

"We're okay," Glenn echoed softly to himself. "We're okay. We're okay."

Carley peered over his shoulder and saw how hard he gripped the steering wheel. His knuckles were a noticeable white despite his already pale skin. As his verbal chant faded to silence, the rate at which he clenched and unclenched the steering wheel increased. No longer was the young man struggling to squeeze the wheel with the strength of wanting it to collapse in his hands, but rather his hands now trembled and his fingers twitched.  

"It was my fault"--"The gun got away from me"--"There was nothing we could do."

All three of them blurted out at once, but only Glenn continued speaking, his voice raised and plowing through the apologies Lee and Carley offered.

"No ," he said. "This was my fault.  I  thought she said  I  was bitten, not  she  was bitten. God, how could I have been that stupid--"

"You weren't being stupid," Lee said. "You misheard her but you still wanted to help her."

"At what cost, our lives? We were lucky," Glenn all but yelled. "We didn't have any 'quiet weapons' and sure, we took out of a bunch of those geeks, but what if something went wrong? Carley was right—we should've gotten out of there. What I did  was  suicidal."

"We're  all  suicidal over something, Glenn," Carley said after a provocative glance from Lee, his eyebrows raised and eyes wide and darting to Glenn, inviting Carley to jump in. 

"She didn't need our help. She didn't even want it," Glenn responded, his voice morose. 

"No, she needed it," Lee said slowly. "She may not have wanted it, but she needed it."

"To off herself, yeah. Thanks for reminding me; I almost forgot." He bit down on his jaw. 

"That's not what he meant, Glenn," said Carley.

"We were the last people she ever saw," Lee said. "It might not mean anything to her now, but we tried. And she had to have seen that."

"She was  bit ! Who cares if we tried ? !" Glenn suddenly yelled. "She's dead!"

"This isn't about her," Lee quickly shot back. "This is about you. About all of us. Could you have lived knowing you could've left someone stranded there? No! Carley threatened to leave your ass there, but you stayed. You needed to save this girl. You needed to know you could do something—that you could help people. And you tried, Glenn, and that's not something anyone asked for, but you went for it anyways." 

Lee swallowed and stole a glance out the window before turning back to Glenn, his voice suddenly softer as he relieved a sigh. "You're a real noble guy, Glenn. I'm glad we have you."

They turned onto the road leading to the drugstore. Within seconds, they would be backing into the small alleyway where the back exit to the pharmacy led through. Glenn remained silent to Lee's words as he positioned the car. He adjusted his rearview mirror, Carley once again meeting his eyes. Unsatisfied, Glenn adjusted both side mirrors and exhaled, his posture slumping forlornly

"It's too dark for me to see with just mirrors," he finally muttered. 

"I've got it," Lee volunteered, already opening the car door. 

"Make sure the alley's safe; let Kenny know we're back," Carley added.

"Goes without saying."

As dark as it was, Glenn had no choice but to turn around and face Carley as he backed into the alley.

She yearned to avoid his gaze, and basic intuitive empathy suggested Glenn was loathe to face her. Her eyelids felt heavy, weighted to move in one direction or the other—to either of the windows or at a greasy pizza stain on the carpet between her shoes or the dull gray pattern on Glenn's seat—but despite the instinctive urge pulling her away from Glenn, a  strong fragment in her head said she needed to address this. She needed to clear the air between the two of them.   

"Glenn," she said, her voice so quiet it nearly came out a rasp. "About how I was going to leave you behind earlier... I didn't mean it."

"Doesn't matter," he said, his words clipped. "I was going to save her with or without your help."

She glanced away briefly before turning back to him. In her haste, she failed to prevent a look of regret crossing her face.

"I don't think you were being selfish," Glenn asserted. "If that makes you feel any better."

"I thought I was looking out for all of us."

"You were."

Carley bit down on her back molars, chewing twice. "Look," she said. "I don't care if you think me negatively or selfish or what; right now, Glenn--" Her tone dropped suddenly from assertive to calm and genuinely concerned-- "I'm worried about you. What we saw wasn't easy." 

He didn't say anything and she bit the inside of her bottom lip. He made a  wide turning motion on the steering wheel.

"How's your stomach?" she asked.

"Fine."

She didn't believe him, one way or the other, and it left a sinking feeling in her own stomach and a drum beating in her head, beating against an immovable wall. She was responsible for Glenn's poor outlook. Despite his hasty declaration saying Carley wasn't acting selfishly, his terse responses and short tone were more indicative of a swelling bitterness she was sure Glenn would have liked to admit. Groupthink was holding him back. And while Carley was no stranger to ill will, having bad blood with Glenn did not sit well with her. As briefly as she had come to know the pizza delivery boy in these past hours, he was a real practical, albeit quiet guy, as neutral good as they came.

Looking past Glenn's shoulder and into the rearview mirror,  Carley  watched as the car drew closer to Lee. Eventually, he held out his palm, signaling Glenn to stop. The boy turned away from Carley and faced forward, parking the car and pulling the key out of the ignition. 

"Glenn?" Carley said as he opened his door.

"Yeah?"

"Your friends, your family before all this went down?"

"Mmhm."

"They were lucky people."

"...Thanks." And he left, the slam of his car door the only indicator that she was sitting alone in the car now.

Carley finally looked down at her lap. Throughout the trip, her gaze was focused primarily on the window to the left and in front her, her focus darting between the road and driver and side passenger. Her handgun was off-limits since she had entered Glenn's car in that mad scramble at the motel, and with good reason. 

Though she'd owned the weapon for years and it had lost its silvery luster over time, there was no mistaking the familiar wear and tear of her weapon was now caked with blood. 

As the bitten girl pulled the trigger and her skull, then her brain shattered by the projectile that flew through her head, both the red, viscous fluid and the meat of her existence—that relatively small organ that housed every memory, every ambition, every personality trait she was—snagged onto pieces of  Carley's  handgun. Some parts of the Glock—the frame, the slide, even the barrel—were heavily and noticeably covered as if a balloon filled with red paint spontaneously burst. Other parts, like the trigger guard and front and rear sights, were less striking to the average person. But Carley saw every foreign piece that clung to her weapon.

And it was sad. 

"Carley!" Lee yelled from outside the vehicle. "You  all right ?"

"Yeah, I'm coming!" she yelled back. She caught her disheveled reflection in the rearview mirror.

There one second, gone the next. And all that was left of that woman would be fleeting, haunting memories and evidential splatter. 


	5. Slow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I try, guys. I really try to keep these chapters short.

 

** The Journalist **

** Chapter Five **

** "Slow"  **

"Carley!"

A bloodied rag in one hand and her handgun in the other, Carley stepped out from around the counter. The Glock she held now appeared significantly more polished on the exterior after its foray in a pool of blood. The interior, on the hand, remained questionable. So long as she lacked the proper cleaning equipment, its interior would continue to remain questionable. Needless to say, as the only one in the group with a gun, it would prove extremely inconvenient if a maintenance issue resulted in a poorly timed malfunction. 

She was surprised to hear Doug calling out to her. She had seen him step outside moments ago with Lee, the latter with a  faraway  look in his eyes after Lilly pressed the need for finding the pharmacy keys. For all the hastiness with which the two men retreated outside, they could have left looking for those keys, though it would take a miracle to find them if they had to expand their search area beyond the drugstore's walls. 

Speaking of Lee, out of the corner of her eye, Carley caught him making a beeline to Lilly and Larry's corner of the store. The slight, albeit dull clinking of metal on metal caught her attention and she wagered in the one hand of his that was balled into a fist he held the pharmacy keys. Fancy that.

Tucking her gun in her purse and the cleaning rag next to it, Carley quickly walked toward Doug. He leaned unnecessarily heavily against the doors and she smiled uneasily at him trying to look... cool. The way this guy, clad in stereotypical nerd chic of socks and sandals, dug his feet onto the floor, his weight pressed into his heels and his back firm against the entryway suggested he was putting in all his effort maintaining this  façade . But as she approached, he saw this wasn't a forced play as much as it was him pressing heavily against the doors. Her walk now bordered urgent. She bit down on her back molars. Had there been a breach? The combination lock outside should have kept the walkers from passing the security gate, and unless Lee and Doug broke their own defenses venturing outside, there was no way they could have been breached. No way.

"We got the pharmacy keys," Doug panted. "You mind checking to see if they're still pressed against the door? Don't want to let up until I know they're gone."

Carley urgently peeked outside only to immediately exhale a sigh of relief. The space between the metal cage and the doors was clear of walkers. The gate was still together, and as it were, the walkers continued to moan and grumble on the other side. More of them huddled along the steel cage than the last time she  chanced  a good look, several of them pressed so deep their rotting skin and musculature cut and peeled. As worrisome as it was to have more of them out there, the drugstore wasn't breached yet.

"What is it, what do you see?" Doug asked frantically.

"They aren't even past the gates," Carley said, her tone amused for Doug's paranoia. 

Her eyes swept briefly to the combination lock. She made a double-take. The lock no longer secured the two gates from separation but rather lay cut on the ground, its lone but instrumental purpose defeated.

"Wait—did you guys cut the combination lock?" Carley demanded. Her heart rate accelerated,  spiking  at the idea that they could soon be overrun. She kept her eyes locked on the gates outside. It clanged shut and opened again, moving and creating a tiny opening with each driving pulse from the small gang of walkers around it. The walkers could easily spring the gates open with enough force, never mind their lack of intelligence. A breach was imminent now.

"Lee did," Doug answered quickly. "Saw one of the creep's wearing scrubs. Keys were on him."

Carley glanced back and saw Lee and Lilly walking quickly to the office, keys jingling in Lee's hand.  

"So, I can..." Doug waved his eyes between  Carley  and the door. "I can let go, right?"

Carley bit the inside of her lip and stared hard at the gates outside. They would be okay. They would be okay, right? The creeps just needed to keep their numbers down and the group needed to not attract any more attention to the store. They would be okay if that all lined up. 

Carley exhaled. "Just—just stay there. We're good, but just in case...."

"Phew." He exhaled and slid down against the door, finally resting on the floor. "They're really not even past the gates? It felt like they were all coming after us."

Carley shook her head, eyes still glued to the crevice between the gates, rattling open and close,  clinking  subtly with each pulse. 

"There are about a half dozen stacked out there," she muttered. "Looks like a few are headed across the street. TV' s are playing a lost signal ."

"Yeah, that was me. Used it as a distraction so Lee could nab the keys from the creep. Dude was stuck under a light pole." Doug kicked one leg out beneath him, ready to stand and return to lookout duty before Carley reached out to him, her hand hovering just above his shoulder. Despite the lack of touch, Doug remained still, his inquiring eyes sweeping up to meet hers.

"You rest for a couple of minutes," she said. "I'll take watch."

"I can do this," Doug said, resorting a to a more comfortable crouch. "You just got back from picking up Glenn. And  Lee  doing his little stunt outside is about the most work  I  got done. Guy's a real  hotdog ."

"Hotdog?" Carley said, a small chuckle-turned-coughing fit provoked by Doug's word choice. 

"You know, like an action hero. A daredevil. Real calm about it too. Not that I'd be much faster, but he took a good look  at  the creep before he even dug around for the keys. Took his sweet time."

Resisting Carley's gestures, Doug stood up and muttered something about sharing the watch as a compromise. Carley vaguely smiled as he took the left door and she stayed on the right. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Doug peer outside. He looked serious, his mouth tight-lipped and jaw clenched tight. He squinted as he looked outside, as if analyzing more than the number of creeps lurking out there. He pointed out the creep Lee swiped the keys from, the poor guy painfully trapped beneath a fallen light pole. 

Doug's words as he described Lee's adventure outside the gates were laced with a serious, conclusive and detached veil. Carley figured Doug had always been like that, looking briefly at his situation, at his surroundings, at the people around him, and finding some kind of a solution. It wasn't that Doug was looking for competition or that he thought himself a grandmaster in the chess game of life, preferring to sit on the sidelines and command from afar. On the contrary, everything about Doug suggested he was genuinely kind and selfless. As if the whole risking his life to save Carley in a radio station's field van wasn't enough of an indicator, the way Doug approached things was uniquely refreshing. He was gentlemanly and well-mannered without being embarrassingly misogynistic. As a naturally soft-spoken guy, he spoke only when he had something to say, and those things always proved to be game-changing details. Though he refrained from participating in making decisions that would affect the group, he never invalidated anyone's opinion or observations, and while he agreed with Glenn and Carley they needed to rescue Lee and Kenny's group, he bailed from the following argument that ensued, preferring to stay out of conflicts.  H e  even refused to cross lines when even Larry verbally abused him—a remarkable feat, given everyone else in the group had their ire raised by the walking, talking heart attack. But beyond that,  Carley  could see there was an article about the way he mentioned Lee—and not just Lee, but also Lilly when their groups first merged. Bringing up Lee was a defensive coping mechanism. It was a self-esteem issue that had no place in the dire circumstances of survival.

"You shouldn't do that," Carley said gently.

"Do what?" 

"Compare yourself to people."

She glanced outside as Doug reached for eye contact with her. Carley remained uncharacteristically distant despite knowing he watched her watch the gate. Only a few of the creeps continued attempting to navigate entry into the cage, while the others abandoned the pursuit for perhaps more fruitful refreshments.

She expected Doug to deny Carley's accusation. Surprised when he didn't and sure he had swallowed her words, she tore away from the windows and caught him still staring at her. His gentle gaze attempted to sift meaning in  Carley's  words, but when they finally made eye contact, he faltered, quickly looking away. A pink blush settled on his cheeks. Carley found his sheepishness... cute, actually. 

"We all have our own strengths and weaknesses, Doug," Carley added gently, softly breaking the silence. "Do things our own way, the way we think is right. We go at our own pace, not too fast, not too slow. We do what works for us. For him--" she gestured back to where Lee was-- "it may be the stunts no one else wants to do. For Larry, it's being unnecessarily critical of everyone. For me, well, I'd  like  to think it's looking for the smartest option but everyone likes to think that. And for you, well... maybe it's seeing good in what should have been a lost cause. You got me after all." She smiled softly. "Not bad for being 'just an IT' guy," she quoted.

"You think so?"

"I  think you d \--"

An abrupt shriek interrupted their conversation, and she and Doug each cringed at the sudden sound. She squinted, hunching into her shoulders and refrained from slamming her palms over ears. The ringing sounded throughout the entirety of the drugstore and, if Carley would guess, clamor so far as outside the building.

"Shit!" she swore .

In the half second since the alarm sounded off, she exchanged glances with Doug and he threw himself at the doors, checking to see if any of the creeps broke through the gate. Carley scrambled quickly toward her gun on the counter. As she checked her magazine for ammo—ten rounds in the magazine before she needed to reload—Lee and Lilly sprinted out of the back room. Judging by the pills in Lilly's hand and the rattling noise in Lee's pockets, they'd managed to break into the pharmacy. 'Break into'  being the operative phrase , given their attempt must have triggered the alarm system. And with that alarm triggered not only the impending chaos of a break in the pharmacy, but the adrenaline rushes of the group.

"Duck, c'mon, baby, time to go ! "

"I'm gonna get the truck pulled up around back!" 

"Do it fast! I've got to get my dad out of here!"

"I don't plan on dilly-dallying!" Kenny yelled back, turning around quickly to delegate orders. "Honey, take Duck into the office and barricade the living hell out of the door behind me. Glenn, when you hear me honking in the alley, start getting people out of here!"

"You got it!"

"Doug, Carley and Lee, you guys make sure our defenses stay up till then!"

Carley nodded as she tucked her handgun between the waistband of her skirt and the small of her back, jogging quickly back toward Doug and the drugstore doors.

"And Lee, I better take that  axe  in case I run into any of them on my way to my truck."

"Here you go!" 

Carley heard the sound of worn metal scraping.

"Guys," Doug said forebodingly. "That door's not locked anymore."

"Shit," Kenny swore. "You three--" he said, gesturing to Glenn, Doug and Carley as he ran from the floor and into the office-- "get on it. I'll get back here as fast as I can."

Before Kenny even finished speaking, Carley, Glenn and Doug each threw themselves at the double doors of the drugstore just as the first wave of walkers slammed into the doors. Carley dug her heels into the tiled floor and pressed herself hard against the door, driving all her weight into her legs and shoulders. With any luck, the three of them might be able to hold, but Carley found her footing slipping with each passing second. As more of the creeps came, more of them would push, and she didn't know how much more the three of them could take. 

"Glenn!"  Katjaa  yelled from the office. "We need your help! Please, hurry!"

Not the most opportune time, Carley found herself thinking. She and Doug alone couldn't hold the doors.

"I got you!"  Carley heard  Lee say. "Glenn, go!" 

Glenn and Lee switched spots after the walkers' next drive, Lee throwing his back at the door  and digging his weight into his heels  while Doug and Carley used forward  momentum . The slams were no longer coming in slight pulses now. Dozens stacked on top of dozens of walkers, all of them moving forward, pushing forward in  an unrelenting  life-or-death reverse tug-of-war to chip into the drugstore. Lee let out a vicious groan each time the doors pulsed, the handlebars of the doors driving into his back with every motion.

"Hey Lee," Doug panted. "If we don't make it through this... you should know that... I think you're a great guy."

"We  will  make it through this!" he groaned.

"Doug," Carley started. If this was the be-all and end-all of their existence, then there was no reason not to leave everything on the table. "If we don't make it through this, you should know--"

A hard drive by the mob of creeps outside halted Carley from finishing her words, nearly sending all three of them back. Carley dug harder into the ground and forced herself into the door, exerting as much effort as she could to keep the doors shut. Her calves and quads contracted as she fought to keep her legs rigid and she felt her core, arms and shoulders tighten, begging her body to be tenfold more resilient than she's ever needed it to be in her life. She refused to slacken even a bit. Despite how famished, how tired, how  exhausted  her body felt, she needed to keep going. The adrenaline rush, the sudden coursing of blood through her body and her heated breaths to keep that going couldn't stop now. She needed to fight this. She needed to fight or she would die.

Doug yelled something at her, but Carley couldn't hear him, his voice too soft given the grumbles outside and the ringing alarm.

"Huh?!" she yelled back 

" —said I should—"

"Shit!"

The store window adjacent to Doug suddenly shattered, the merchandising shelf toppling forward. With it, nearly a half dozen creeps stumbled inside the drugstore. 

"On it!" Carley said, drawing her pistol.

"Are you sure?" said Lee. "Oh shit!"

More of the creeps swarmed toward the compromised window and Carley dropped two of them with quick pulls of her trigger , eliciting shouts of surprise from both Doug and Lee. Carley dashed  away  quickly, choosing to abandon her door and trust the men could handle it. She sprung for the counter,  grabbing a spare magazine in her purse  as she searched quickly for a better angle ,  one that didn't put Lee and Doug in the crosshairs.  With little options and time winding down, she  settle d  for the other side of the shelving unit.  While i t had the perks of the better angle  and  didn't risk having either Lee or Doug in the crossfire,  Lee and Doug  were now placed in a less-than-moral position, serving as bait  as  Carley flanked them with her gun.  And she was alone here. Lee and Doug were in her blind spot and she had to trust they could keep the doors shut without her.

She pulled the trigger again, and again, and again. They kept coming. She must have downed ten—now eleven, twelve, thirteen—of the creeps by now, having reloaded the second she had the opportunity. They stumbled in at a rate she couldn't keep up with and the number of times she pulled the trigger escaped her as she prioritized survival over practicality. Bang. Bang.  Bang .  T he pile of creeps she dropped grew larger  and  it dawned on  Carley  she would soon be out of ammunition. She needed to get her purse. Drop this last geek and run for it. Run. Run.  Run .

She shuffled toward her purse, keeping an eye in front of her while keeping her body positioned well enough so she could reach the counter without compromising her sights. Then she heard the clicking evident of an empty magazine just as another walker stumbled into the building.

"Shit!" she cried. "I'm out,  I'm out !" 

But once she  realized she  underestimated the number of shots she took, she felt her  left wasn't moving. It was stuck,  hooked—no, caught. 

A  crawler had  wrapped its fingers around her ankle. She kicked frantically, twisting to get the sucker off of her.  Let go. Let go.  God, she needed for it to let go. She lunged with her other leg, hoping she could reach the counter only to hear a joint pop between her femur and hip. She couldn't shake him. She couldn't. Why wouldn't her body move the way she needed it to? Sh e was too slow. Sh e wasn't fast enough, flexible enough—she couldn't shake this guy. She couldn't shake him. She couldn't.

"Lee!" she cried, desperately reaching for her bag. "Ammo! In my purse!"

There were sounds all around her. The unceasing catalyzing alarm that had become white noise in the chaos; the hungry, inhumane groans of the horde of decaying corpses, gradually spilling through the window and limping fiercely toward her; human groans and pleas of desperation, screaming. There were so many voices. So much was happening, she couldn’t filter any of it—she didn't know who was screaming, groaning, could barely distinguish the human noises from the inhuman. Everything was going so fast, and she was moving so slow.

Lee materialized in her vision in an instant, rummaging through her purse and tossing her  her  second to last magazine. A walker she had tuned out was only within arm's reach of her and she didn't hesitate to just pull the trigger the second she chambered the round—and again at the creep who clutched her ankle. 

A gradual creaking that she heard amidst the noises erupted into a loud pitch. A set of two-by-fours collapsed and Carley wheeled around just in time to see Doug, who just a moment ago was reinforcing the window opposite her, was yanked out from behind and into the street. Despite sensory overload, his final, guttural cries resonated loudly in  Carley's  ears. 

"Oh my God," she heard herself say.


	6. A Good Friend

 

** The Journalist **

** Chapter Six **

** "A Good Friend." **

There was a time before all of this. A time where her days were predictable, where they were routine, where they were clockwork. A time where she would go to sleep a little tired, maybe a little stressed, but she would get somewhere between five and seven hours of sleep. There was a time where she wondered where and what she would eat and if she'd alone, not when she would eat next.  A  time where she worried about paying off her student loans and making rent and if starting a public relations firm would be better for her financially than freelance journalism.  A  time where she was plagued with  mundane worries like  these, and even some pressing  ones, of times where  s he wondered if she'd ever make up with her parents or if she was really over her ex-fiance.

There was a time when all of this mattered.

There was a time when she didn't worry about living, about dying. A time where she didn't worry if people she'd met hours ago would be there hours later.  

God, who would have thought that time was just three days ago? Not even a month, not even a week day ago, she was waking up to a new life. No, she didn't wake up thinking, "This is it. This is how the world ends." No, she woke up thinking, "Here I am, a freelance journalist. Here's to networking skills, financial stability and my severance package."

Carley closed her eyes and rested her head against the window. Much of her longed they would never reach the motel. That Glenn would just keep driving and they'd keep going and Carley could just simmer in her thoughts. That Larry would stop nagging and Lilly would stop nagging and worrying and that both of them would miraculously find some Valium and loosen up. That she could just have a moment alone—as close as she could be to alone—shielded by some invisible buffer so long as she remained strapped in the shotgun seat of this car.

But her fantasy fell apart in seconds as Glenn pulled into the motel parking lot. Ignoring Larry's immediate criticisms, Glenn exited the vehicle quickly. Carley assumed it was to get away from Larry under the pretense of performing a quick perimeter check. The young man made a beeline for the pinned-by-a-car-in-neutral walker at the center complex. He wrenched the screwdriver Lee had dug into his skull out of it, its lifeless body making a vague thump as it slammed down on the hood of the car.

Larry kept babbling about something and as exhausted as she was, as much as she would have loved to take a nap in this car that smelled vaguely like pizza grease and garlic bread, Carley needed to be away from his nasally nitpicks. Exhausted as she was, she didn't need to hear any more of Lilly's voice or Larry's voice and their gripes and worries, and  joining Glenn would certainly be more productive than  playing wallflower . It would keep her moving, stop her from thinking, and so she threw the car door open and left the vehicle.  

She heard the sound of an old, purring engine draw close to the motel and Kenny's truck pulled into the motel lot. Its passengers exited the vehicle and Carley felt a weight lift off her shoulders to see Lee among them. As one of the last to leave the drugstore, she couldn’t recall seeing him as she leapt into Glenn’s car, and while she hadn't consciously worried about his safety, knowing that he was there was a relief. In the chaos of the moment, she vaguely recalled running past Larry and then Kenny and she heard Clementine yell “No!” but the adrenaline shot too fast through her veins and in her head and she was going too slow, and God, everything was blur…. She couldn't handle two survivors’ deaths—arguably three—on her head if Lee hadn't made it.

"Fuckers boxed us in,” Kenny explained. “Took a detour. Can’t say it was for a loss; found some stuff in a corner store on our way over." He gestured to the half-dozen of boxes in the bed of his pickup truck. "So what, is this place secure enough to bunker down?” Kenny said. 

"We're working on it," Lilly responded. Glenn came around the RV, a screwdriver in one hand and a large key ring laden with keys in the other. 

"Lee," Lilly added. "You keep an eye out for walkers on the street. Glenn and Carley—you guys can secure the rooms. I see you've got keys."

"Yeah," Carley said. 

Glenn grunted in agreement.  She  turned toward him , ready to start their little motel raid  and found him staring a little too hard at the group. Lee was near the half-wall that surrounded the buzzing motel light, knelt down speaking to Clementine. She quickly  went to  wait by  the RV .  Duck chased her, frothing at the mouth about comic books and superheroes. Lee , meanwhile,  stood and leaned forward against the wall, the torn photo of his family in his hands. Kenny and Katja sorted through the boxes they looted and  separated the goods—energy bars and crackers, infinity scarves and  Tupperware , travel toothpaste and rash ointments, gummy vitamins and who knew what else. Larry had broken into the RV with a hefty grunt, nearly ripping the door from its hinges after prying it open with the axe. Carley was grateful his cynical remarks were now contained within walls. Lilly dragged walkers from various spots in the parking lot  adding them to the ever-growing  pile . Right now, she was dragging the girl Glenn tried so desperately to save.

"Glenn?" Carley finally called out.

He squinted and bit down on his jaw. 

"Let's go," Carley said, her voice soft. 

He spun toward her, his eyes heavy and while he was definitely the youngest of the adults, tired wrinkles that hadn't lined his face hours before now overshadowed his features with regret and sorrow. He knew they were short a member.

Seven rooms. That's how many that weren't barred by two-by-fours. Safety was not a luxury they could skip out on, especially if they planned on staying at the motel for the night—or possibly longer. So while seven seemed like an okay number to sweep through, they needed to clear out every room preferably  sooner rather than later. But Carley couldn't entertain the idea of doing that tonight. She needed to, God they did, but moving her body any further—even with just seven rooms to clear out—felt far too laborious, never mind the dozen of so boarded ones they needed to secure, too.

But she needed to keep moving. They both did. 

So they cleared the seven rooms without so much as exchanging ten different words. "I've got it", "All right", and "This one's mine" were their limits. They caught only two walkers lurking inside those rooms, but getting the jump on them was child's play. Kill the geek, drag it out, and lob it into the growing pile of dead things. 

When they had finished and had slung the last into the pile, there was a beat where neither of them didn't know what to do next. 

 "You didn't know him before all this?" Glenn finally asked, his voice soft. 

"No."

He should have known that Carley didn't. In fact, Glenn picked up Doug and Carley just moments after he had rescued her at the Cherry Blossom Festival. It was an interesting turn of events where Doug and Carley frantically searched for an unlocked vehicle they could hide in. Glenn happened to be hyperventilating in a nearby parking lot. The “customer” apparently found the pizza delivery boy more appetizing  than the actual pizza. Incidentally, Glenn left his car unlocked, allowing Carley and Doug to scramble in, leading to a panicked—yet in hindsight hysterical—moment that consisted of screams shouting “Get out!!!” and “Drive, dude, just drive!!!” 

Doug said he made a beeline for Glenn’s car because he enjoyed their breadsticks. 

"He was a good guy," Carley slowly added. "A good friend."

"Yeah," Glenn agreed. 

She didn't realize it, but she stared unfocused at the lot they stood on. The sun had long set and what little light they had came from the neon lights of the motel's sign and the fading  streetlamps . She could see the color of the parking lot. It was the same as the one where her production van was parked on, the same faded color of the parking lot Glenn's car was parked on when they jumped in, the same faded color of the back alley behind Everett's Drugs. Once it may have been a clean, fresh black, where tires ran smooth across it and the tar was as slick and gummy as oil. Over the years, over weathering, over use, that color faded to a powdered gray, like charcoal after its burn.

She thought she smelled fire. The analogy in her head would be both fitting and concerning if she was still suffering from sensory overload.

“You’ll be okay,” Glenn said.

“Yeah.”

 “I was never mad at you by the way. About her, I mean.” His eyes flickered toward the collapsed terrace of the motel’s third building. The incident felt like it happened days ago, not mere hours. 

“Are  you  okay?” she asked.

He responded with quiet. No doubt he fought to avert his eyes from the terrace, his gaze firmly placed on the asphalt at his feet. But the guilt pulled at him too fiercely and he relinquished his hold, finally turning to stare hard at the open door of room number nine. He didn’t know that girl, and maybe Glenn went overboard entertaining fairy-tale fantasies—of rescuing a trapped maiden in a tall tower, of being the savior to the damned. But Carley sensed this was beyond romanticizing hopelessness. In fact, it was about the  romance  of hopelessness. Of courage and selfless acts and doing the deeds no one else would. Of standing your ground, of rising from the ashes and finding hope in hopelessness.

His eyes were so dark brown they were practically black like the abyss of the forest across the street, like you could get lost in it and never find your out—and not in the cheesy, lovey-dovey way. Yet, the streetlights shone brightly off his irises, a slight flicker of light there, so subtle yet so aesthetically profound a portrait artist could depict him as holding back tears or that he was alive, light illuminating his eyes in the bleak of their situation. Or both—that he held back tears for a countless reasons, but relished so stubbornly in living and in life.

“I might leave,” he finally uttered.

“What?”

“To Atlanta. I… I have people there.” 

Carley could only nod.

“You said yourself my friends were lucky people.”

“And you need to make sure they’re okay.”

“Yeah.”

Carley nodded again, the gesture a filler motion to buy her time to think. She leaned against one of the pillars holding the broken terrace above them. “Have you told anyone yet?” 

“Just you,” he admitted. “I owe you that much.”

“Glenn,” she said, a light, well-meaning grin tugging at the corners of her lips. “We’re square. You had me at the Festival. I had you at the motel.

“Yeah, but…” He chewed on his words and sighed before speaking.  “You deserve to know. I wouldn’t feel right if I left without telling you. And Lee, too,” he added, jutting his chin in his direction. “I think he should know. Even if we are ‘square.’” He added the final part in jest, and they both chuckled. Their short laughs, polite but by no means forced, gently faded into quiet.

“Take care,” she said finally.

“Yeah. You too.”

He held out a fist and Carley suppressed a chuckle as she clenched her own hand into a fist and bumped his. Without another word, he left her beneath the terrace and went to his car. For a moment, as he stood, leaning with his car door open, she thought he would stay. But when Lee spun around and Glenn caught his attention, she knew he would be another good guy she knew, gone. 

 


	7. Fortnight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Shouts out to Boombastic for reminding me I posted this fic on AO3. Long story short, I thought I “dreamt” I posted The Journalist on this site and therefore didn’t think I actually did post it on AO3. Expect several chapters in very short amounts of time. *finger guns at Boombastic* Wait, no… No, that was… a…. mistake :’)

There was no shortage of Georgia-themed calendars in the motel. Complimentary souvenirs for travelers wayward and budget-oriented alike, the boxes of calendars served now as a bleak reminder that a given number of days passed since the outbreak. A number of sunrises and sunsets, of high noons and different phases of the moon all came and went. Hell, when this all began, the moon was but a sliver in the sky; now the moon waned from full. In the night, stars and constellations passed gradually, and in the day temperatures rose and dropped. Time went. They stayed. And all they had to show for nature's routine shifts was growing personal discomfort, a bigger wall, and dwindling quantities calendars as they became tinder for fire.

Except for the one lucky survivor that laid across the desk behind her.

She pushed up, her fingers cradling the edges of a plastic-painted-gold frame, and the painting withdrew from the wall with ease. She looked disapprovingly at it before setting it down. It was a still life of a light purple vase and some unexciting, unexceptional field flowers on a dingy white—or maybe it was cream?—tablecloth against a stale brown background. It was the kind of painting you would find in your conservative great aunt's house, maybe in her powder room or somewhere that smelled vaguely of church perfume. It was typical and unassuming, something that could take space on a wall for the sole purpose of taking up space or maybe varying the nauseating pastel color palette of the room. Design-wise, removing the painting from the wall did her room far more justice.

But most importantly, it opened up the nail on the wall so she could hang the calendar. So she did.

Some weight here, a tilt there—perfect. Straight it could be without using a scale. Not that she had access to one. Maybe they did. Larry did come across a tool box while raiding the office. It didn't matter, she dismissed, not that she would go out of her way to make sure the calendar was 180 degrees of straight. She picked up a pen on her desk, another complementary gift courtesy of Travelier Motel, and carved a slash mark into the appropriate square on the calendar.

Day fourteen.

And still no sign of help.

A knock on her door drew her attention.

Lee stood in her doorway, knuckles rasping on the frame. The door was a little more open than ajar, just as she'd left it when she entered her room minutes earlier. He leaned forward, enough for Carley to see him clearly, he either too courteous to cross the threshold or masquerading as a vampire—not that she needed to deal with any more monsters in her life. She'd known the man eleven days, arguably more, and his warm smile and bright eyes always surprised her; this guy radiated morning optimism.

"Looks like home already," he greeted.

"I'd hate to see what home was like if you call this homey," Carley replied.

"I'm black, Carley, but don't call me homie."

She looked away briefly, rolling her eyes enough to see the grin on his face. He was proud of that, the pun, smile reaching his eyes without force. She allowed a small smile, which quickly burst into amusement, his own hearty laugh echoing hers. Their light chuckles were genuine in appreciation of derivative morphology, of the dual meaning in comfort and close friends. The whole universe must have come together for Lee to construct that on the fly—and for it to be true.

Both Carley and Lee exhaled, their giggles fading into the early dawn. Their sighs—his louder than hers—sounded forlorn, regretful even, inspired by a motley combination consisting mostly bleak realities.

"Another night alive," Lee said.

"And another day to scavenge," Carley replied like clockwork. She ran a hand through her hair, combing her matted locks into something that hopefully resembled neat and presentable and less like windswept and grungy. She beckoned Lee to come inside.

He left the door ajar enough for her to see the pink sky of rising daylight, allowing the stale musk of her room to mingle with the muggy morning air. Carley would have wanted to relish in a breeze, to feel a little bit more awake with a refreshing chill if it ever crept through her door, first rustling Lee's shirt before tickling her skin, but that was wishful thinking. Most days—like today—were unbearably humid in the mornings. She preferred the crisp night air, but as time passed and the sun peaked over the horizon, humidity would follow and drain her of what little energy she had left.

"You're up early," Carley said.

Lee shook his head. "I could say the same about you."

She shrugged. "Clementine—is she awake?"

"No, no. She likes her beauty sleep." He smiled fondly, his expression so gentle he looked nearly years younger. "Have you slept yet?" he quickly followed. "Kenny said he just got on watch."

"He overslept; missed shift change by an hour...." Talk of sleep encouraged a yawn to rip through Carley as she finished her sentence. "I don't blame him," she continued as Lee mimicked the contagious yawn, unnoticed by either of them. "You and Kenny both spent the day hunting and heavy lifting. You guys deserve the sleep.”

They both turned to look outside Carley's window, the blinds striped so they could piece together the outside scenery. The completed skeleton frame of their wall underwent reinforcement and Larry, one of the group's earliest risers, marched through the morning fog hovering over the parking lot. A flatbed dolly loaded with Rent-A-Fence fences trailed in his wake.

"You should get some sleep then," Lee said slowly, and he turned to leave.

Carley's next words cut sharp enough to halt Lee him. Her tone was unintentional and she was uncertain as to why she spoke that way.

"This wasn't a courtesy visit, Lee."

"It could be," he entertained.

"It's not."

He exhaled. "You just got off watch," he said, disbelief capturing his words. "Lilly wouldn't send you out there without first letting you rest."

"And yet here you are."

He stood, crossed his arms and tilted his head to the side, his usual smile replaced with a frown. Lee wouldn't admit it and Carley would never dare say it to his face, but Lee had become the token messenger boy for the group. By nature he was the counselor, the middle ground. He cleverly sought the politically correct answers and would get his point across, usually with minimal offense. She could tell he wasn't naturally a doer as much as he was a thinker—he was a history professor for God's sake—but Lee liked to say he did what he could, which meant doing things no one else had the guts to. Sometimes that meant risking his life running errands. Other times it meant playing messenger boy.

"I was hoping you were asleep on my way over here," he said, his voice somber. "You need it. Lilly can wait."

"What does she want?"

"It can wait."

She chewed on the inside of her bottom lip as she read Lee. She appreciated him, she really did, the way he stood so adamant, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, not completely closed off but personally decided on the issue. Don’t ask again was what he was trying to say.

"...All right," she settled.

"I'll check on you in a couple hours," he added, uncrossing his arms and exhaling as if a tense moment had passed. "Or come find us when you think you're good."

She nodded, and as the door clicked shut behind him, her shoulders slumped and an exhale escaped her lips. She collapsed on her bed, but by no means felt comfortable. In an attempt to feel less dirty, less weighed down and less restricted, she removed her button down shirt, once a pure white, now dinged with smudges of dirt and sweat. The camisole she wore underneath was in an even more unsightly status. But she had found sleep in worse hygienic conditions, and she would now—as fleeting the idea of sleep was for her.

She tossed around on the bed and turned on her side. The lone vanity mirror stared back, the spook under her eyes and the far gone color of her cheekbones taunting her. Haunting her would have even been appropriate. She turned the other way.

Three hours was what Carley aimed for. Three hours felt like an appropriate amount of time to suggest to the others she'd squeezed in a little siesta. It's not like anyone kept track of how many hours any of them slept, but paired with the number of hours she logged taking watch, people would notice if Carley was always on duty, always volunteering for runs, always doing something, and was never just asleep.

She logged the most hours when it came to watch. She also had the worst watch, although no one verbally acknowledged it as such. From 1 a.m. to 6 a.m., she sat perched atop the RV staring into darkness. She couldn't see deep into the forest and no one could see her—that is if she decided to fold up the chair and lie prone against the RV roof, which she did most nights. During these nights she heard gunshots, screaming, people scampering through the forest shouting names and breathing heavily enough to attract walkers a football field's length away. Beams of yellow and white light would spurt in various directions until the runners would drop their flashlight or their batteries died or they thought playing smart meant to turn off their beacon, only to be caught in a lurker's grasp.

Sometimes a walker would slip out from the forest or come in from down the road and walk the perimeter of the motel wall. On the off chance any slipped through the tiny cracks the group hadn't sealed, she'd scale down from the RV and take care of it with minimal noise, a distracting flashlight and a screwdriver.

Five hours every night she did this alone. Her only company was a left-behind stuffed animal guinea pig and a creepy taxidermied black cat Kenny looted for shits and giggles. Carley called them Itchy and Scratchy respectively.

By the time Kenny relieved her of duty every morning at 6 a.m. more or less, Carley expected to be dog-tired, to think that the prospect of a bed and prescribed sleeping time would be all too welcoming. And it wasn't that everyone else getting up and being awake and making noise kept her from sleeping. No, all that was just observable noise and nothing else.

Speaking of noise, Duck was awake now, his radiance and hyperactivity too much for the paper thin walls of the motel to handle. Lee slammed sandbags (repurposed pillowcases filled with dirt) onto the Rent-A-Fence bases and eventually enlisted the help of Duck and Clementine to perform some undemanding task to help out Larry, who hammered away at two-by-fours. Unsurprisingly, Kenny and Lilly argued—what was it this time?—ah, it didn't matter. It would begin with watch then move on to food and inventory and supply runs. Birds chirped at a pitch too high, their songs far too obnoxious to resemble anything like a morning greeting. Clementine tried whistling along while Duck quacked away with Larry. The geezer must be in a good mood. Sounded like Larry was teaching the boy how to use a hammer.

_Thunk, thunk, thunk._

"Yeah, don't get too eager—you might hit your thumb if you miss. We can't have that now, can we?"

_Thunk, thunk, thunk._

"Let's try a real nail now."

_Thunk, thunk, thunk._

"That's right, son, that's a man's work you're doing."

_Thunk, thunk, thunk...._

_Thunk!_

Sharp red pierced through her closed eyelids, invasive sunlight thrusting past the blinds assaulting what black solace she found in darkness. A large cloud must have just cleared the sun, suddenly exposing the light and allowing it to brave into her room. The cloud moved as all clouds did, but it moved more than drifted, moved in a particular way--backwards and then forwards...? It even ducked down, shielding her from the sun. What a courteous little cloud. But clouds didn't duck down, they didn't move like people—

She bolted upright, kicking out from under her and scooting as far back into the headboard as she could, reaching for her gun in the same motion. Her gun—the gun, where was it? She'd left it right on the floor next to her sleeping mat, on the dashboard, on the counter, on the nightstand. Her hands moved frantically for it, arm reaching, palm slamming down everywhere on the surface, fingers outstretched, searching for the cold barrel, its cold grip, its cold metal pattern—where was it? She couldn't find it, she couldn't see it—fuck—she kicked out in front of her; she didn't make contact, she couldn't feel anything. She needed to buy time—where was her gun?—she needed to keep kicking.

"Ahh! What—Oh, no!—Carley! Hey!"

They were touching her now. On her arms on her shoulders. She couldn't move out of their grasp. She was too slow, too rigid. She couldn't move back. There was nowhere to go. Her gun wasn't there. She couldn't find it. She kicked out—

"Car—Carley! Carley! Wake up!"

The shadow moved too fast. She saw red. There was pounding. Loud pounding, heavy pounding. Like running. Running fast on gravel and dirt; on weak, creaky wood; on sturdy tiled floors. And then there was silence. Silence except for the pulsing in chest, in her head.

They were gone.

And she saw red. Red that was sunlight peeking through her eyelids. Red that was there, striped across the blinds of the motel window. A bright, angry red. so bright, so angry it was surreal and in that surreality she felt how hard she squeezed her eyes shut to avoid it only to realize that yes, her eyes were shut.

So she opened them and the image in her head slowly faded and gave way to reality. Motel. Motel. Motel. She was in the motel in Macon, Georgia. Nowhere else. She was safe here.

Her legs felt tight, posed as they were, knees up to her chest from having scooted back to the headboard. She exhaled and wrapped her arms around her, hugging, squeezing herself as best she could, her right cheek resting on her left knee.

Her eyes gravitated toward the nightstand. Her Glock lay there, sitting innocently as she left it. Next to it was a Ziploc baggie of her rations for that day: a hard boiled egg, a slice of white bread, a pack of chocolate-covered raisins, and a pint of bottled water.

Draped over her rations, however, was the calendar she hung earlier.

Day fourteen.

She saw her door move. She heard a click. Someone pulled her door shut from the outside.


	8. Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Know what's fun? Realizing your Microsoft Word review comments/notes ends up here when you paste the doc into the "chapter text" box. No one wants your annotative notes of symbolism, foreshadowing, and character development, Kep. Chill. (Unless you do, which is cool and maybe I'll leave them in??)

 

**The Journalist**

**Chapter Eight**

**Stay**  

She left her watch  atop the RV. Any number of hours could have passed as she lay there in bed, staring at the unmoving ceiling fan, listening but not listening to the noises outside her room, but she wouldn't have known exactly how many hours. So much for aiming for three. Her eyes ached and felt forlorn, her muscles heavy and apathetic, her mind mercurial with meddlesome thoughts. She unthinkingly gnawed on the slice of bread in her ration pack, less for eating, more for something to do.

Now, when food was certainly a scarcity, was not a time for emotional eating.

She wanted to think about food as much as she wanted to think about time, which was about as much as she dwelled on the impending apocalypse before shit hit the fan: not at all. She knew she needed to eat, but the telltale snores her stomach would typically groan were absent—and have been absent for days now. She ate because she needed to, much like she moved because she needed to. She was loathe to think it automatic, that living now no longer meant striving for personal success and happiness, but that living was a carnal instinct motivated by uncontrollable, intrinsic urges geared primarily to self-preservation. Who needed reasons to live when you could just... live? There didn't have to be a greater meaning in all of this. It just was.

The sun outside moved at a pace too gradual for her restlessness. She frowned, muscles twitching in her brow as she muttered something obscene in her fight against apathy. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, blinked away the sudden vertigo and swept up the calendar that fell over the nightstand, hanging it on the protruding nail. She threw her arms into her button-down and tucked her Glock between the small of her back and the waistband of her too-long, dirt-and-grass-and-bloodstained athletic pants.

She exited her room and descended the stairs quickly, both the humid air and sunlight hitting her in severe, cutting welcome. Kenny lifted his chin at her as she approached the RV, he leaning back in the lounge chair with the taxidermied cat Scratchy on his lap. It was still before noon. 

"Hey, Kenny," she called up, her voice hoarse but its usual chipper. "Did I leave my watch up there?"

Kenny dipped his head left and right, checking underneath the lawn chair, standing to make sure he wasn't sitting on it, even lifting the cat. He shook his head, but lifted an item.

"All I got's this pocket watch. Lee's, Isn't it?"

"No," Carley shouted. "Mine. Lee wears a wristwatch."

He tossed the timepiece down. "You, uh, like pocket watches?"

"It was a gift ," she said, catching it and tucking the item in her pocket. "Speaking of Lee, have you seen him? Or Lilly? Heard they wanted to talk to me about something—a run maybe, I don't know."

"You heard about the base?"

"No...?"

Kenny checked his own watch, clearing his throat. "Did you catch _any_ shuteye?"

"I feel refreshed," she shrugged. She wasn't lying. The more she moved, the more she felt useful and the more she felt refreshed. It was far better than the alternative of lying in bed counting sheep. An errant thought made her wonder how the sheep population in the country fared. 

Kenny squinted skeptically, his mouth parted to speak when Lee and Lilly rounded the RV. Larry followed in slow stride, his arms crossed over his chest upon seeing Carley. Lilly remained as animated as a brick, her mouth stretched thin in rigid passivity. Lee, surprisingly, looked just as passive, tilting his head with a nod and a polite smile so slight, she would have missed it were she not already looking at him. Looks like they were in for a powwow, Carley thought.

"What's this I hear about a run to a base?" Carley asked. "Are we talking about Robins AFB?"

"Food, water, weapons, _protection_ ," Kenny jumped in, leaning backward so he could be heard from his perch. "It was a mistake not to go there sooner and it's a mistake if we keep waiting."

"One of the radio stations said Robins was being used as a refuge center," Carley recalled.

"That station cut out a week ago," said Lilly.  

"You still think it's safe to head over there?" 

"It's worth a shot," Kenny said.

"And I think you're right," Lilly agreed.

Carley clenched her brow in an effort to hide her surprise at Lilly's agreement. Even the world ending could barely put these two warring minds together.

"I don't like it," Lilly added. "But it's something."

"What do you mean you don't like it?" Kenny interjected. He removing Scratchy the petrified cat from his lap and set it on the RV roof. "What's not to like? We don't have anywhere else to go!"

"We can stay here!" Lilly said, spreading her arms as if to showcase the magnificent beauty of their skeleton motel. "Here is fine. We just finished reinforcing the wall and you're telling me you want to leave?"

"I'm saying there's somewhere better. I'm not trying for the coast--"

"Don't even start--"

"I'm not! I'm saying we should be looking for somewhere where we don't have to... have to _struggle_ so much."

" _Struggle_?"

"I'm not asking for a spa day complete with a pedicure, lady," Kenny said. "We have, what, three hard-boiled eggs left and a molding loaf of bread to feed us. Lee and I risk our lives every damn day going into the city looking for food and supplies. The more we clear out, the deeper into downtown we have to go, where a fuckton of walkers lurk around every corner. We only scraped away with a handful of Slim-Jims last time because a pigeon was fucking a trash can."

"I'm not saying Robins is a bad idea," Lilly said. "I used to _work_ there. It's a good place. There'll be food and water and weapons stocked up regardless of whether or not the place is still safe. What I'm saying is that we don't know what's out there."

"Hrr-dee-drr, in case you didn't notice, life's chock _full_ of surprises. Lee, come on, man, I thought you said you'd talk to her."

Lee raised each of his shoulders in his trademark dance of evasion. "You both have valid points--"

A collective, exhausted groan rasped through the group.

"Quit riding the fence!"

"I'm not. I'm with you on this, Ken," he said. "Look, Lilly, there's nothing to lose if few of us go scout it out. If it's good, we come back and round everyone up and relocate. If it's bad, then we head back to the motel. No harm done. Maybe we'll even catch a rabbit for dinner, who knows?"

Lilly, Larry and Kenny exchanged glances. The silence was interrupted only by Clementine, excitedly shouting "I found you!" to Duck who hid behind some boxes in Kenny's truck.

"Sounds fair to me," Carley said quickly.

"Then I have to go," Lilly said. "I know the base.  My ID's in my room. I can use it if backup systems are still running."

"I'm staying," Larry said. "There's gotta be some muscle staying behind. " He crossed his arms, his face smug as he sat down on one of the lawn chairs beneath the RV tarp.

"Lee, you're coming," Lilly decided. "Kenny--"

"I'm going. My idea, my run."

"That leaves Carley on watch," Lilly said, her tone cagey as she turned from Kenny to Carley. "Have you _slept_?"  She glanced briefly up at the sun, gaging time, before staring at Carley. 

"What's with the tone? I'm _fine,"_ Carley replied, her words hard and solid.

"You heard her," Kenny said, pointedly mock grinning at Lilly.

"You're really going to leave your family behind to someone who's half-asleep?"

"Oh, _come_ _on_ ," Lee groaned over Carley saying, "I'm _right_ _here._ " She waved a hand in front of her face in a wide arc.

"Carley's a better shot half-asleep than any of us are awake anyways," Kenny said. "Hell yeah, I trust her."

"Why don't we just leave after Carley gets a little more sleep?" Lee attempted, crossing his arms and extending a hand. "Carley, what do you think?"

"We need the daylight," Lilly answered before she could speak. "The routes we're going to have to take could mean blockages and detours. We need to leave as soon as possible if we're going to do this today."

"Then why not tomorrow?" Kenny asked. "We split up her night shift and she gets the whole day's watch tomorrow."

" _I'm right here_ ," Carley seethed. "And who says I want to take watch? What if I want to go?"

"No way—"—"And leave _who_ on watch?"

"Why?" Lee said.

Between Lilly and Kenny's hotheadedness, hearing a simple question, albeit laced in disappointment deserved an answer. And she didn't know how to answer that question exactly. She didn't want to admit part of her—the bitter and tired part of her—said it if only to spite Kenny and Lilly. She liked to think she was beyond adding drama to this hamster wheel feud, but—despite how well she hid it—her restlessness proved and continued to grow increasingly frustrating.

"I need to get some air," she said simply.

Larry snorted from his kicked back position in the lawn chair. "Air?! You want fucking air?!" He extravagantly looked up at the clouded blue sky, his head turning left and right as he inhaled and exhaled deeply. "Forget food and water, I didn't realize we were running out of fucking air! There it goes! My last breath wasted on you!"

"If only," Kenny muttered just loud enough for them to hear.

"What did you say?!"

Kenny leaned forward in his chair, peering down toward the rest of the group. "Air's hot enough without you popping a gasket, old man," Kenny said.   

"Kenny!"

"Dad, don't--!"

Predictably, Larry exploded—not literally, of course, much to Carley's dismay, but he verbally erupted, sparking yet another confrontation. For once, at least, he wasn't going off on Lee. That wasn't to say she preferred Kenny for Larry's target practice. Neither of them deserved the verbal abuse for whatever witty comment would transpire in an argument. 

"Why don't you shut up and do something useful instead of running your piehole when nobody wants to hear it!"

"Come down here and say that to my face!"

"Why don't you climb up here?"

"Carley," Lee started, his voice low, a combination of an intentional drop in volume and being drowned out by the other three's bickering. He snuck away from the argument, having stood between Larry and Kenny when their tirade broke out. Now he shirked over to Carley's side, standing next to her with his arms crossed. They had quite the view, watching the other three squabble.

Carley turned toward him, her eyes looking up to meet his.

"Do you really want to go?" he asked. His brow was knitted in concern and candid curiosity.

She bit the inside of her lip and averted eye contact. It was difficult to describe how she felt, to find words for restlessness and inactivity that didn't sound like a plea for attention or a tactless craving for action. To describe the weight in her muscles, the headache that threatened to burst from behind her eyes, the tedium in survival—and was she familiar with excitement in survival—drained her.

"I'm tired," she settled slowly, "… of this."

"We don't have many other options," Lee said softly.

"It's dumb, I know," she admitted. "Wanting to go out there and risk my neck. You, you're out there every day. You know you might not come back when you go out there. You might actually like the security of taking watch."

"I don't mind watch. I don't mind the runs either. Somebody's gotta," he said.

"Yeah," she muttered.

"Carley." His voice was heavier now, lower and she knew he was going to say something grave. "I don't... I don't want to force this on you," he said. "But... I'd like it if you stayed."

His words caught her off guard and she saw him fighting to hide desperation from showing. She knew him. She knew he wouldn't have said that, wouldn't have said something to influence her own decision-making abilities if there wasn't something more. This wasn't him convincing Lilly to side with Kenny; this wasn't him convincing Kenny to side with Lilly. This wasn't him convincing Carley to side with either Kenny or Lilly. This was just him.

"For Clem," he added shortly. "I need you to watch her while we're gone."

"Then why don't you stay?" she shot back.

He didn't mind her tone, looking instead to Lilly and Kenny and then back to her.

"Do _you_ want to be the mediator between those two?" he asked lightly.

"You have a point," she settled.

"I'm not trying to make one." He exhaled, his shoulders huffing up and down in one final motion. "I just want someone I trust to look after her. Katjaa's fine... Larry's... yeah, but... I trust you. And Clem likes you."

"She does?"

"She told me herself."

"Is that why you only go on runs when I'm on watch?"

He rolled his eyes playfully, catching her humor. "Maybe."

"And here I thought you were avoiding me."

"Avoid you? With all the dirt you have on me? Never," he teased, taking a wide step away.

She sent him a tough glare, a hard stare that communicated _caution,_ to watch what he was saying. They hadn't spoken about his past since the drugstore, and Carley—and hopefully Lee—was all too happy to keep it that way. 

"All right,"she said. "I'll stay here."

 

 


	9. Clean Clothes and Coffee Beans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline: Still two weeks in.

**The Journalist**

**Chapter Nine**

**Clean Clothes and Coffee Beans**

His name was Mark . And Carley was happy he didn't drive a military humvee.

At first sight of Kenny's dated truck coming over the hill, a trail of diesel smoke coughing in its wake, Carley slung her lookout rifle over her back and promptly slid down the RV's ladder to open the gate. Only when she reached the dumpster did she notice an unfamiliar black SUV trailing after Kenny's truck, both easing to a stop as the vehicles arrived. Wary of whatever hostile situation could transpire, she shouldered the stock of her rifle just as Lee hopped out of the unfamiliar vehicle. He waved reassuringly at her, enough for Carley to lower her guard. He proceeded to push the dumpster back while Carley pulled, the two cars swiftly rolling into the motel parking lot.

"I'm guessing the base is a no-go?" Carley asked, crossing her arms as Lee strode next to her.

"Your guess is right," he said. He kicked the wheels' locking mechanisms in place and shoved the dumpster hard. The gate was locked solid. "Robins was completely overrun," he added. "Walkers everywhere."

Carley glanced up at the west-leaning sun. Sunset would be soon, perhaps an hour. Lee, Kenny and Lilly left camp just after dawn that morning. A whole day's trip—a day where the camp waxed optimistic for secure shelter and food, a day where that optimism morphed gradually into worry as the sun slunk from east to west—amounted to nothing. No progress, perhaps, with the exception of the vehicle they commandeered on the trip.

Car doors slammed, drawing Carley's attention to the man driving the SUV. White, glasses, a growing beard, lean, and most telling, clad in military fatigues, he lingered around Kenny and Lilly as they introduced him to the Larry, Katjaa, and the kids. He looked friendly enough, shy in fact, or perhaps even uncertain. His eager smile and radiant posture revealed he felt nothing short of gratitude.

"You picked up a straggler," Carley observed.

"His name's Mark," he said, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Found him holed up at Robins."

"Was he the only the survivor?"

Lee's eyes darted to the ground, his act enough for Carley to think the opposite of what he chose to divulge.  "Yeah," he said.

"Oh."

She could have pestered further, to exclaim her surprise that in all of the military installation, there remained only one survivor, but Lee's distant demeanor trailed away. Carley noticed fresh stains of blood and gore on his clothes. By no means fresh in the traditional sense, the splatters of dried and congealed filth were new badges of brutal undertakings. Not only did they mar his clothes, but his hands too were stained in various shades of red, from a dark, mutilated brown to bright reds. There was even a light trail of it on his cheek, as if he'd just darted away from an arterial squirt.

She couldn't stop herself from wondering if he looked like that when he murdered the state senator.

"I'm... I'm glad we have him then," Carley said of Mark.

"Yeah."

She pulled a hand towel from her back pocket, damping it with her bottled water as she asked, "Did... Did Lilly agree to this? Don't get me wrong, I'm all for this guy being here--" She offered the hand towel to Lee, mirroring the blood on his cheek by gesturing to her own; he took the towel and patted at his face--"God knows we need the manpower but didn't she protest? He is another mouth to feed."

She nodded when he removed the splatter and his posture changed almost instantly with her remark. His remorseful grimace turned up toward a knowing smirk, his head tilted cockily.

"It was conditional," he teased.

"Conditional?"

Lee began walking toward the rest of the group, where they huddled along the two cars. As Carley approached, the man named Mark lifted his SUV's trunk door. Her eyes widened and her pursed lips parted as her jaw dropped. Boxes, bags, jugs of food, water, basic supplies were stuffed deep and well into the SUV's cabin. Stenciled markings on a few of the boxes revealed such luxuries as spaghetti and macaroni, canned vegetables like corn and green beans and even canned meats like chicken and turkey. Carley never thought she'd be happy seeing the words tuna scribbled on cardboard, but even that sounded delicious after her diet consisted mainly of stale bread, beef jerky and tomato soup.

"Locked himself in the commissary," Lee explained, grinning.

"Figured at least I wouldn't starve to death," Mark said. "Name's Mark," he said, turning specifically to Carley. "Senior Airman out of Robins AFB. "

"Carley," she said kindly, though she chose to forego an occupational title. "This is amazing," she added. "I can't even find words right now. We've been living off scraps for days."

"Lilly thinks we could stretch this to last us two months," Lee added.

"Another mouth to feed is a small price to pay for sixty-odd days of food for everyone, I hope," Mark said. "Frankly," he added, turning to Lee, "I thought I was going to die when she pulled the knife."

A quick peer around the SUV led Carley to see Lilly stood in the room they'd turned into an inventory and supply area. A clipboard in  one hand and a can of fruit cocktail in the other, she took inventory of the boxes Larry and the kids brought her. Judging by her squint when she picked up a can of fruit cocktail, she even noted the number of servings per container.

"I'm glad you deescalated the situation, Lee," Mark said. "I owe you."

"We got nothing to gain by killing people," Lee said. "That just makes less of us to fight those monsters out there."

"Carry your weight is all I'm asking," Kenny added, returning to the truck and shouldering a bag of rice. "But as far as I'm concerned, looks like you've just carried everyone's weight." He thrust out a hand. "Welcome to the family, Mark. "

\---

Katjaa said not even Black Friday deals or Christmas mornings proved as exciting as now. The way everyone—kids, adults, even Larry—tore into the provisions reminded her of those extravagant sales, of frantic, urgent movements for a steal-of-a-price television.

Carley disagreed. She disagreed silently, but she disagreed. Entertainment ranked nowhere near survival on a scale of happiness. Carley instead recalled memories of crowds of people, of refugees and protesters, either small in number or large in mob, who would swarm the platoons and their trucks  for food and supplies, who would gather dangerously close to helicopter drop zones for medical care and care packages. There was hope in the organized madness, of bright-eyed receivers looking to their saviors with glee and gratitude. Now, on the receiving end of that truck, of that helicopter, of that care package, she felt that hope, warmth, security. To know that living tomorrow, next week, even next month wasn't just a reach anymore... it felt good.

Final counts of food and water could sustain them for at least two and a half months—three, maybe even four if runs into town hauled in a steady food supply. Weapons were definitely in overstock, especially of the melee variety, namely an assortment of knives and two crowbars. Firearms now stood at two rifles, three pistols, and a satisfying supply of 9mm rounds.

Lilly said the run through Robins AFB was through the barracks area, allowing them to raid on-base houses, gathering clothes, medicine, and general use supplies like toiletries and eating utensils.

It took a short search for Carley to find some clothes that fit—including actual-size jeans, shirts, and the most miraculous of them all, athletic shoes. To boot, among the supplies Mark brought with him were wipes from the mess hall, and Carley gladly used one of them to finally pseudo-bathe in some semblance of hygiene. As she shrugged on her new apparel, she shook away the familiar memory of what it felt like to return home from being embedded. Home was hot water and a warm bath, freshly laundered pajama pants, and nice cup of coffee, away from the action, away from war.

What she'd give to have the military here with her now.

As she exited her room, relishing in a rare August breeze, she spotted Lilly standing on top of the RV with Mark. Her arm was extended, pointing out to the treeline and down both ends of the road, her rifle slung across her back while Mark held his bolt-action down and away. He spoke, she shook her head and pulled out the screwdriver and the axe from underneath the lounge chair. 

The kids played one-on-one soccer, a ball provided by Mark upon his arrival. Carley smiled as Clementine dribbled the ball past Duck and into his makeshift goal. Surprisingly, Lilly had shown Clementine that trick earlier in the day. Carley had her own memories of learning that move herself. Maybe, one day when the world wasn't so bleak, Carley would find entertainment in a one-on-one with Lilly.

\----

"You should be sleeping," he said.

"If only it were that easy."

Carley pulled herself up over the final rung of the RV's side ladder. She always thought the sudden height difference between standing on the parking lot and standing an approximate ten or so feet above it to be a little disorienting—moreso during the night, as it were. She didn't fear heights, but she couldn't lie about how good the adrenaline rush felt as her body adjusted to that top-of-the-world feeling. Granted, the height was hardly literally top-of-the-world, but the overlook comforted her. Day or night, the view captivated her, the horizon a cluster of trees nearby and a smattering of downtown buildings further on. Before the mundaneness of watch would set in, before fully understanding she would be staring at this view for another four, five, or six hours, she relished in the vista's depth. She would inhale the air, encourage the air to tickle her skin, and think, however brief the thought would be, that this was peace. 

"Sleep patterns don't work that way," she added as she settled down to next to Lee, her legs extended just so her feet dangled off the roof's ledge. She set her traveler mug down between her legs, removing its lid and letting the steam of the just-boiled water air out.

"No, I guess not," Lee said. He cleared his throat. "Would you—uh—would you like the chair?" He stood, already halfway up when Carley shook her head quickly, waving a free hand in emphasis.

"You keep it. You're on watch. Gives you a nice little boost to see over the treetops."

He chuckled and Carley turned look at him, puzzled. When her quizzical eyes met with his amused ones, he said, "You think _I'm_ the one who needs a boost?"

" _Oh_ , ok _a_ y. That wasn't called for." She turned to him, her head tilted in mock offense.

He returned the smile as he leaned forward in his seat, his elbows resting on knees. Itchy and Scratchy were placed on the other side of his lounge chair, flanking the screwdriver. Underneath his seat laid the axe.

"I don't know how you do it," he said.

"What, survive the apocalypse at 5 foot 3 and a half ?"

"No, keep watch every night without falling asleep," he said. She could hear the smile in his words. With the addition of Mark to their watch crew, the watch shifts changed significantly. Instead of midnight to  6 a.m., Carley was now entrusted with 1 a.m. to  6 a.m. A small change in the night shift, but her day shifts were now much shorter. Lee's evening shift, on the other hand, though shorter, extended into the early hour of the night. Carley would take over his watch soon. 

"Trust me," she said. "It only gets easier from here."  She removed a plastic pouch from her pocket, tore it open and emptied its contents into the traveler mug. She raised the mug in mock toast.

Lee raised his water bottle, sliding off the lawn chair to join her seatless on the roof. "To clean clothes."

"And coffee beans," Carley finished.

She sipped from the mug. The instant coffee was bitter and its scent shallow, but the taste—especially after two weeks of quitting cold turkey--was indeed welcoming in its wistfulness. She wanted more to inhale its scent than to consume it, surprised by how much she craved the scent of powdered, roasted coffee beans more than the caffeine itself. She felt the grounds on her tongue, tart in taste, reminiscent of chewing on sand and dirt. It was nostalgia, a false sense of security in a cup, and even with just this lone serving, she couldn't deny her addiction to it.

She nudged the mug in Lee's direction. She didn't even know if he drank coffee. He was a professor. Of course he did.

His tongue lapped over the taste on the roof of his mouth, returning the mug to her.

"Wow," he said.

"G.I. instant coffee at its finest."

"Or average civilian instant coffee at its worst."

"It's better than nothing."

"That's a new world motto if there had to be one."

Carley sipped from the mug. She could feel his gaze on her, but she chose to look out into the treetops of the forest.

They stayed like that for a while, sitting in comfortable silence. Lee tried again to press her to go to bed; she could take that hour and nap, he said. "God knows I would."

But she shook it off, saying "soon." She brought her legs back toward her as a cool breeze drifted by, light and welcoming in the August heat they suffered. She wrapped her arms around her knees, resting her chin on her chest, eyelids faltering only to relax, leaving enough of a crevice open to see those treetops Lee joked about.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Considering working on another fic detailing Mark's rescue from Robins AFB. Considering.....
> 
>  [KP1]The arrival of Mark "marks" a new beginning, an optimistic breakthrough for the group. The next month is a month of positivity. Clean clothes refers to "feeling clean" and "looking clean"--an attempt to erase how bad it is out there in the apocalypse so long as they have security in their camp. Coffee beans is nostalgia--of looking back and longing for true sense of security and not the false security they have. Clean clothes are temporary until they get dirty, though they can be washed. Coffee beans is a consumable: it's there one moment, then gone the next.
> 
>  [KP2]Mark wasn't. They'd met up with a group inside Robins, but weren't able to maintain contact. They said they'd meet them at a certain spot, but the people never returned. They were holed up in the Mess Hall.
> 
>  [KP3]5 episodes, died in ep 3, was mentioned by lee and clementine in subsequent episodes, thus 5-foot-3-and-a-half


	10. Harbinger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Five weeks in; three weeks after the last chapter.

**The Journalist**

**Chapter Ten**

**Harbinger**  

Wet engulfed her. Bright assaulted her. Her eyelids surged to wakefulness. The blurred, pale, off-white walls of her motel room grew quickly into focus as she was flooded with current reality. A reality of a bed and a dresser and an unusable big box  T.V. This was the motel. This was her room. Not anywhere else. No desert towns decorated with rubble and doomed-to-collapse buildings. No brick buildings that resonated of downtown Macon, no family drugstores, no stores or store-lined streets that hovered heavy with fog and bestial murderers. Motel. They were at the motel on the outskirts of the city. She was safe.

Her eyes darted toward her nightstand. The calendar fell from the wall again.

"That was a wise way to waste water," a woman's scornful voice said. Carley turned, finding a woman hovering over her. She stood up straight and swerved angrily toward a broad-shouldered second figure. Both quickly came to recognition. Lilly and Lee. The latter clutched an empty water bottle, the source of Carley's now wet hair and clothes sticking to her now clammy skin.  

Kenny suddenly burst in the doorway, axe in hand. "Y'all all right?" he exclaimed. "What happened?"

"She's unhinged," Lilly said, scrutinizing Carley with a wary stare before darting to look at Lee and Kenny. "Kenny, go back on watch."  

"I have a right to be here if anything's gone to shit--"--"She had a nightmare!"--"...I had a nightmare."  

"You have a duty to make sure our defenses stay up!" Lilly said to Kenny, her voice rising higher than either Lee's protest or Carley's vague grumbling. "You left my dad, your kid, your wife and Clementine out there without a lookout."  

Kenny frowned, his mustache sinking into a scowl. Despite looking too eager to argue with Lilly, with the gradual increase of walkers wandering toward their camp, Kenny chose to leave the room. He muttered something derisive Carley couldn't hear, though she did notice him mock hacking the axe into the ground.  

Lilly turned back toward Carley, the scowl plainer than any décor in the room still on her face. Carley held her breath—her heavy breathing cut short, not wanting to show any weakness against Lilly. " _Kids_ have nightmares," the woman cut. "You've gone psycho."  

"Jesus Christ, Lilly have some sympathy," Lee quickly interjected. "It was just a nightmare. Carley—" He turned toward her-- "Are you okay?"  

"Yeah, it was just a—a nightmare," she said. She stole her voice, certain her voice was loud, clear and strong enough to say she okay and it was just some petty nightmare. "I'm fine," she added.  

Lilly's scowling resolve didn't change with Carley's assertiveness. Rather, Lilly walked along Carley's bed—Carley eyeing her hawkishly—as she placed Carley's Glock  on the nightstand.    

Carley swallowed, her stomach suddenly feeling apprehensively empty. Her gun wasn't there while she slept. It wasn't there. It wasn't. She remembered reaching for it, grasping for it, unable to wrap her fingers around where it would be for every poor sleeping terror she experienced, only to wake up and find, _yes_ , yes it was there. But this time it wasn't. _God, did it matter?_ She could have asked herself. It was all a dream anyways.

The words Carley spoke next felt distant in her ears, low as if she spoke in warning.  

"What are you doing?" Carley asked.

"Putting this back," Lilly answered, shoving the gun further back along the nightstand and closer to Carley. "At least that's what I was doing before you went apeshit on me."  

"That doesn't belong to you."   

"No shit. We needed it," Lilly said. "I sent Lee on a perimeter check--" Lee held up both hands in surrender-- "Don't be fucking selfish," she added. "He needed the gun."  

"For what reason?" Carley said incredulously. "So it could go off--"  

"It wouldn’t have--" Lee interrupted.  

"--and attract walkers from upwards a mile away?" She stood up suddenly and forced eye contact with Lilly. Carley bit down on her molars and blinked twice, fighting the onslaught of vertigo from her sudden movement. "Our little wall isn't going to hold that many walkers. We agreed stealth was the better ridiculeoption."  

"Ladies..."  

"Why are you getting your panties all up in a bunch?" Lilly pressed. "We needed it for security!"  

"We have half a dozen of weapons to choose from, including discrete weapons and you took mine!"  

"You should be more than willing to share!"  

"I didn't even need it--" Lee attempted.   

"You should have asked!" Carley shouted, deaf to Lee's protests.  

"I don't need to! I'm the one keeping yours and everyone else's ungrateful ass alive!"  

"Yeah, in vainglorious self-appointment."  

"Carley, you're being dramatic--" Lee exhaled.

"And look at all the _power_ I can wield with that self-appointment!" She spread her arms in ridicule . "You've just earned yourself Lee's watch patrols for the week and you're _grounded_ from supply runs."  

"I'm _grounded_? _Whoa_ , sorry, _Mom,_ can I mow the lawn and do dishes for a week instead?"  

"Enough already! _"_ Lee yelled, startling both Carley and Lilly into silence. "Cut it out! It happened, okay? Carley had a nightmare. Lilly took the gun. _Okay_. It happened, so grow the fuck up and get over it!"  

Carley shot Lilly a glare, one so ferocious Carley didn't think she had it in her to hold Lilly's stare. Carley refused to blink, refused to let the burning in her eyes give way to tears; she would use her mental prowess, that vague mind over matter mentality to have her corneas suck the sting from her eyes. In all that focus, of needing to knock Lilly down a step, Carley felt a tinge of lightheadedness creep up on her. She'd been holding her breath too long, too long to maintain this unfazed façade.  

Only then did she realize the cut on Lilly's lip and the swelling on her cheek . Only then did Carley feel the ache in her knuckles.

Carley was wrong. And she knew it. The longer she held her breath—the longer she maintained this stubbornness—the more she regretted her outburst. God, it was her gun, yes, but it wasn't the _only_ firearm they had. She could trust Lee with it, of course, and she understood where Lilly was coming from. Did they borrowing her gun bother her that much to host a petty argument with a frazzled leader? Carley was in the wrong. Whatever night terror beleaguered her was beyond her control—weren't they all?—and her inability to cope sparked this nasty temper tantrum, causing things to go from bad to worse. They didn't need another split in their group. This was stupid.  

Carley exhaled. "Lilly, I'm sorry--"

But Lilly only huffed and stormed out, looking only at Lee as she slammed the door behind her. Lee exhaled deeply, his shoulders slumping in a visible sigh. The expression he wore wrestled wide eyes of disbelief and confusion with a frustrated, disappointing scowl.   

"Please don't make me choose sides," he said.  

She closed her eyes, inhaling the stale air of her room as if it was fresh mountain air. She slowly exhaled. "Talk to her."

"...Car--"  

"I'm fine," she spat, but she instantly regretted it. Her harsh tone was unwarranted, especially for Lee and she hastily apologized. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry. I'm just... still heated."  

He didn't look convinced. In fact, he didn't look like anything, at least this was an expression of his she wasn't familiar with. It was plain, unexpressive. He could be angered, disappointed—the man had a mean poker face if that was the case. But he wasn't either, not by traditional nonverbal expressions. He breathed steadily, not with lost patience or frustration, but rather disappointment meeting resignation, as if he were waiting. Maybe he didn't know how to react either and this was just the axiom on which he subconsciously based his expressions. Whatever this look was, it made her uneasy.   

"Look," she said. "I'm not mad, least of all at you."  

He remained silent.  

"She only has her dad and I don't want her getting a daddy's little princess inspired ego trip when she starts shedding tears on his lap," she added. "Go talk to her."  

"I'm not going to defend you."

"I'm not asking you to."

"Good, because I think that was one of the stupidest arguments I've ever seen around here. Over a _gun_ , Carley? _Really_? And that's _after_ you sock her in the face?"

"I only just realized that happened."

"What _did_ happen?"

Carley looked away. "Like you said, it was a nightmare."

"You _punched_ her. I ran in right when it happened."

"Do you really think I would knowingly and willingly punch Lilly?" Her eyes flickered back to meet his, but his uneasy gaze caused her to drift back to the unbiased eyes of the sofa's buttons.

Lee squeezed at the plastic water bottle in his hands, the noise sharp and crinkling. His voice low and gruff, he asked, "Was it that bad?"

She shrugged.

He exhaled.

"Okay, I get it," he said. "You don't want to talk about it. But you need to apologize."

"You saw how she stormed out. Just go talk to her," Carley said, a spark of urgency in her voice. "If you don't, we'll be feeling the offshoot for a week."

"If _I_ don't?" Lee said disbelievingly.  "Look, Carley, I don't know what you're going through and I _appreciate_ what you're doing for me, but I'm not at your beck and call," he seethed. "You're the only person I don't have to tiptoe around, but I'm not your errand boy and I'm not Lilly's bootlicker."

His gaze bore into her, eyes wide now with incredulity, driving into her in a look that a few mere words from violent. Yet in the split second it took for Carley's gaze to falter down to the water-stained carpet and back up to him, she thought she saw a flicker of concern. She very could have entertained the concern to be a form of wish-fulfillment—for someone to sit down and ask her what's wrong and why is she acting so out of her usual composed character—but even that softness in his brow faded, replaced by that menacing expression. It softened.   

"You're better than this," he said.

"Please," she said.  

His scowl deepened and he left without a word.

She sunk down on her bed and fell back, more than happy to have gravity pull her into the firm mattress. She closed her eyes, not out of pursuit of the ever-fleeting sleep, but in physical representation of shutting herself off from the world, of allowing herself to be swallowed in the peace of dark.   

A knock on the door startled her from her reverie. Lee had the left door slightly ajar, enough for Katjaa to peak in, gently pushing it in.  Carley sighed again and sat up, wordlessly gesturing for her to enter. In one hand she held thermometer and a bottle of water.  

"Lee sent me," she said. "Is everything okay?"

Carley felt her clothes were still wet.

 


	11. Take What You Need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seven weeks in; two weeks after the last chapter. C'mon guys, they had three months of down time in that motel and I'm looking to move things along, ya know?

 

**The Journalist**

**Chapter Eleven**

**Take What You Need**

Two flashes of light drew her attention. Each different and indicative of separate, forboding events. The first, lightning. Small strikes, far and away from the motel but bright enough to enlighten the night sky for the briefest of moments. Few as the strikes were, she counted the seconds after each one. One-Mississippi, two-Mississippi, three-Mississippi, and on until she reached fifteen. Thunder never followed those strikes, yet her body keenly anticipated them. Her shoulders, arms, even her neck and legs hunched inward, muscles tensed. She was glad thunder never came.

The second flashes of light were manmade. Motel doors opened and motel doors closed as someone held a flashlight and braved the late night hour for a trip to the latrine. When a fourth person crossed the lot only an hour into her shift, Carley scaled down the RV and keyed herself into the supply room, grabbing a couple bottles of water. She would log she took them later, otherwise Lilly would lose her shit.

Not literally, Carley childishly thought. There was enough of that happening anyways.

She approached the figure, flashlight in one hand and water bottles in the other, only to find he failed to make it to the latrine. He hunched over a patch of unhewn landscaping on the side of the hotel, down on all fours as he gagged twice before finally retching.

Carley swallowed, her stomach twisting into uneasy knots.

"You all right?" she finally asked, stooping down next to Kenny, offering him a rag to wipe his face and a water bottle.

"Fucking peachy," he croaked. He turned over and leaned back against the curb, his legs spread out under him, breathing heavily.

"Drink," Carley said, pushing the bottled water closer to him.

"I can't."

"You'll dehydrate."

"I _can't_." He stared up at her, his brow determined and a heavy scowl on his face. She could barely seen him, but her flashlight's beam, aimed at the wall, encased him in just enough light to highlight the gaunt in his cheekbones and the sheen on his skin.

Carley bit the inside of her lip. "Katjaa and Duck?"

"Same thing. Fevers too, probably. Sleeping. Fuck--" Kenny turned on all fours, heaving again. Carley looked away.

“I'll sit with you.”

“No.”

“No?”

"I'm fine here,," he said forcefully. “By myself.”Impatience rattled through his throat with the same force as the next round of dry heaves.

"Not in your condition,” Carley argued.

"Unless you've got some magic cure to food poisoning, you can't do anything," he rasped. "Just go back... on watch." He swallowed and clutched his stomach, his eyes closing in brief reprieve, his breaths heaving his shoulders and his stomach up and down. "Jesus," he whispered, more to himself and probably in some desperate prayer.

\---

By dawn, more than half the group—the half that made the egregious decision to eat seafood from a nearby river—suffered the debilitating traumas of food poisoning. While Kenny swore his catches were fine and cooked to appropriate temperatures, there stood unexplained reasons for why over half the group purged waste from one or both ends of their bodies. Some, namely Clementine, Duck, and Kenny, were so badly affected, their entire bodies were giving up on them. 

"It hurts, Lee," Carley overhead Clementine say that morning through the thin walls of their adjoining bedrooms.

"I know, sweet pea. I know," Lee would say back.

Carley swallowed. Her mouth was parched and as sick as everyone was getting, dehydration—and by extension water supply—would no doubt play a critical issue in the survivability of their group. She held two water bottles in her hand, one leftover from last night's watch, and this morning for today's run. She would sacrifice both as she knocked on the door entering Lee's room.

"Hey," she said.

Lee attempted to sit up from where he rested on the couch, but Carley quickly raised a hand in protest. "No," she said, tight-lipped. "Down."

Lee, an unnatural and peculiar shade of green, grimaced as he slowly sunk back down.

Carley looked to Clementine. She could barely see the girl, white bed sheets swallowing her in the queen-sized bed. She was surrounded by flattened white pillows and wrapped in an equally white, albeit tangled, sheet. She had presumably kicked the comforter to the far end of the bed. A light layer of sweat coated her skin and a slight pink flushed at her cheeks. Wound loosely in her sheet, Carley could see Clementine huddled in a fetal position, her knees hugged to her chest.

"How it's going, kiddo?" Carley asked.

Clementine's response was timid. "Bad."

Carley could barely hear her.

"She's afraid to talk," Lee said. He gestured at the trashcan next to the lone bed. The bin stood not on the floor, but on the nightstand for a quick reach should either Clementine or Lee need it.

"Could you... do me a favor?" Lee asked. "Can you check her temperature? I'd do it but I'm pretty warm myself."

Clementine shook her head. "No," she said, looking at Carley. "You'll get sick."

"Don't worry about me," Carley said softly. "It's not contagious. Here."

Carley chewed on the inside of her bottom lip as she stooped down next to Clementine. Taking a deep breath and briefly closing her eyes as she reached out, she pressed the back of her hand against Clementine's forehead, the girl squeezing her eyes shut.

Carley sighed and retracted her hand. "You're warm, kiddo."

"Fever?"

"Mmhm."

"Oh..."

Carley reached over and tucked a water bottle in Clementine's hands and then handed the next one to Lee.

"How bad?" Lee asked, gesturing at Clementine with a tilt of his chin.

"Not too bad," Carley said. "Maybe a 101, but nothing higher, I don't think."

"That's... good." Lee closed his eyes as his head leaned back on the armrest of the couch. Though neither of them ever brought it up, Carley knew Lee used the light blue couch as a bed, preferring Clementine to use the lone mattress in the room. If she were to sit on the couch Carley was sure the cushions would sink beneath her.

"Drink fluids if you think you can handle it," she advised him.

Lee nodded, his eyes still closed. "We will."

"I'll tell Larry not to be optimistic about you or Mark switching out for watch. You guys need your rest."

"Okay," Lee muttered.

"All right. I'll be back soon."

"Carley?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you."

\---

Three of them chose not to eat the catch. Carley, Lilly and Larry. Three , the miracle number: enough for two to head out for a run and one to stay behind for watch.

"Look, I'm not eating that. I don't care about your Fisherman of the Month award from two years ago. I'm not eating fish," Lilly adamantly said the day before when Kenny brought in the haul of fish and half a dozen frogs.

Kenny's rationalization for hiking out to the nearby Ocmulgee River was that the group would soon run out of protein. The trip spurred out of, first, an untruth stating they would go into town for food, and second, because Lilly rambled about their dwindling stock of canned meats. Despite the men's efforts, Lilly remained steadfast, cautious about eating their catches.

Carley declined eating for similar reasons, albeit less hostile ones. Tired as she was of salt-and-pepper powdered mashed potatoes  and canned chocolate pudding, she didn't trust freshly caught seafood. She never did. She much preferred leftover spaghetti Tuesdays on Wednesdays than have any variation and preparation of amphibian or fish—not that she was picky being on the cusp of starvation.Her stomach had shrunk so much in the past week, she was sometimes more than happy to trade her white bread for anyone's wheat, usually Katjaa's or Clementine's and sometimes Duck's. They needed the calories. She was fine.

She placed her crowbar down beside her and unshouldered her backpack. In one swift motion, she swept the remaining three bottles of Pedialyte from the shelf.

"Shit," Carley heard Lilly mutter from the other end of the convenience store.

"What?" Carley stood up and called over the few, long aisles that separated them, moving quickly toward the beverage aisle. They chose to forego Lee's parents' drugstore, knowing the store had well been gleaned of electrolyte solutions. Instead, they chose a larger corner convenience store, mere blocks from their original holdout.

"I lost the slip Katjaa gave me."

"The one with the drugs?"

"Yeah," Lilly said. "I know the brand name meds but there aren't any here. Generics, drug names—you know anything about that?"

"Uhh," Carley swiped some bottles of lemon-lime sports drinks and some powdered mixes into her bag. "Loperamide!"

"Glimepiride?!"

"Loperamide! It's what's in Imodium!" Carley yelled as she walked further away from the pharmacy section of the store. "With an 'L!'"

"Loperamide! Got it!"

"You might wanna take the Glimepiride anyways."

"Why?"

"It's blood pressure medication," Carley called out. "For your dad."

"Oh. Thanks," Lilly said, her voice much softer. "It's not _just_ loperamide. Her list was longer," she called back.

"I don't know what they are." Carley moved quickly up and down the aisles, looking for small soft drinks to tuck into her backpack. Along with the two cans of ginger ale she found tucked behind some store-brand Coca-Cola, walking through the foreign foods aisle, she found a jar of powdered ginger. "Uhh, maybe some kind of 'cillin?'"

"Amoxicillin?"

"No, but grab that anyways. We need more of that."

"Ampicillin?!"

"Ampicillin? Uh..." Carley racked her brain for the long list of meds Katjaa recited. Ampicillin, ampicillin, had she mentioned ampicillin? She couldn't recall. Katjaa's weak voice spoke in mutterings as she scribbled on the notepad earlier that morning, and for Carley, drugs all sounded the same to her. Christ, why did they all have to sound so scientific?

"Sure?" Carley called out.

"You're not helping here," Lilly seethed.

"I'm not the one who lost the list!" Carley yelled back while sprinting down another aisle. Sugar, salt, sugar, salt—where were they? She moved quickly up one aisle and down, her pack strapped tight to her back bounced up and down with each stride, the contents slamming into her back in mild discomfort. She felt the few fluids she grabbed swishing in the pack. She kicked at a tin pack of sardines on the floor and stopped her sprint to scoop it up.

"Carley!" Lilly called from the other end of the store.

"What?"

"What am I getting?"

"Fuck, I don't know! Grab anything that sounds familiar to you!"

Carley rolled her eyes, finally setting her pack down after finding the sugar and salt. She unzipped her backpack and tossed in a large package of sugar and a container table salt, which should be more than enough to replenish lost electrolytes, according to Katjaa.

Carley quickly ran back to Lilly's location and hopped over the pharmacy counter, where she briefly noticed a binder split open on the counter. The words 'SURVIVOR GUESTBOOK' headed the top of the page in blue pen. Beneath the words lay a scribbling of names, well over a dozen of them. A few had strikethroughs, as if to indicate grim demises, while other names were flanked by tallies, a sign this convenience store saw frequent visits from regulars—a sign that these other people lived. They survived, too.

Carley joined Lilly among the nearly identical white shelves holding nearly identical white bottles of pills. Lilly moved quickly from each shelf, one hand holding her duffel bag, the other sweeping across the shelves, dumping the meds into her bag.

"What are you doing?" Carley called out.

"We'll just take everything!" Lilly replied, still swiping at each of the shelves. "Katjaa can sort it out herself and we'll need this stuff sooner or later."

"Shouldn't we leave some of this?" Carley turned toward a sign on the counter, one undoubtedly hastily scribbled by a former pharm tech, the words 'TAKE WHAT YOU NEED' abreast the guestbook binder. Underneath, hastily written in different handwriting read, 'LEAVE WHAT YOU DON'T.'

"Oh, yeah, because a sign is going to police me."

"Other survivors come here."

" _We_ need this!" Lilly replied. "Our people are sick!"

"Look, I'm not here for stealing meds!" Carley returned. "We take everything and we could be killing other survivors who need it!"

"Why does that matter to you?! They're strangers!"

"Because we're not fighting this alone! There are other groups out there who come into here for meds, too--"

"It doesn't matter! We're not responsible for those people!"

"They're fighting the same fight we are!"

"We won't be fighting any fight if we're all dead!"

"Huh," Carley suppressed a grin. "And look whose point you just proved."

"Get off your fucking high horse," Lilly said. "We grab these meds and our people live."

"You keep saying 'we' like you care about other people."

"I care about our group! Our group surviving. Why don't you?!"

A door slammed shut, followed by several voices and footsteps echoing in the backroom adjacent to the pharmacy. Lilly and Carley's argument ended in abrupt silence, both of them crouching down behind an island counter, out of sight as they saw shadows enter the convenience store.


	12. Leave What You Don't

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still 7 weeks in (takes place immediately after the last chapter). And wow, while I might have originally posted this chapter in November/December 2015, I was getting some serious flashbacks during that last TWD episode (6x14 "Twice as Far"). Mmmm.

 

**The Journalist**

**Chapter 12**

**Leave What You Don't**

"EpiPens! EpiPens first!" a man's voice shouted out. "Antibiotics, second, all right? If you see Cipro or Moxy, grab it, but we don't have time to be looking!"

"I know, I know!" another man yelled.

Carley turned quickly towards Lilly, her voice all but hushed as she mouthed, "What did you take?"

"I don't know," Lilly muttered quickly. "I just emptied the shelves!" 

"Did you grab any boxes of EpiPens?"

A shadow loomed over the island they hid behind as one of the men who entered hopped over the pharmacy counter. His quick, rushed footsteps and inattentive flashlight sweeps resulted in the man completely missing Lilly and Carley as he made a beeline through the pharmacy, his gaze and flashlight focused on the shelves, looking for anything that remotely looked like a box full of epinephrine autoinjectors.

"Go," Carley whispered, shifting her head quickly so Lilly would crouch to the other side of the counter.

"Eddie, c'mon, man! They're waiting in the car!" the other man yelled from the other side of the counter. "Fuck, of all the ways to go down, it has to be eating peanut butter. Who dies when the world is ravaged by reanimated cannibalistic corpses _over peanut butter_? Fucking, Wyatt, swear to God."

"Wyatt's not dead yet! Are you stocking on food?" the man called Eddie yelled back.

"Not a lot left around here! You find the epi?! Bright yellow box, man, not hard to miss!" 

"Then why aren't you looking for it!?"

"Cuz you stepped on my fucking reading glasses, remember, asshole?!"

"Oh, right. Sorry about that."

Lilly and Carley hunched down and further into the wall as a beam of light swept over their heads. 

"Hey, there are a few glasses on the counter. Pick yourself a pair when you get over here. And add another tally to my name in the guestbook when you come back. I need to beat out the competition."

"You're fucking kidding me."

"There's gotta be something worth living for, T.J."

Quick footsteps from the other side of the counter alerted Carley to the arrival of the second figure. She heard pen scratching on paper and plastic grinding on plastic as the man—T.J.—spun  the display fixture of reading glasses. She heard a loud thump as he hopped over the counter.

"Got the glasses. What are you looking for?"

"EpiPens, still. I can't find them!"

Despite Lilly's scowl, Carley carefully unzipped Lilly's duffel bag. Shielding her flashlight with her hand to cover most of the light and knowing the guys faced away from them, Carley peaked and three yellow boxes bearing the EpiPen logo eagerly greeted her.

"Shit," she muttered.

The two men continued conversing, covering opposite ends of the pharmancy. By the trail of their flashlight beams, each walked in a path that would corner Lilly and Carley from an escape route—not that there was much of a chance of escape anyways. The women breathed a sigh of relief when Eddie, who had skipped past Carley and Lilly earlier, made yet another sharp turn when T.J. yelled out he'd take a turn searching for the epinephrine autoinjectors—a turn so sharp, in fact, and so close, his flashlight swept into the eyes of Carley and Lilly, only for Eddie to set his focus on the shelf in front of him. Carley and Lilly, pressed as far into the island counter as possible, stared at the back of a man less than a foot away, rummaging through the 'A'-list medicines.

"Whoever was here before us sure cleared out the damn place," Eddie yelled. "'Take what you need, leave what you don't,' my ass." 

T.J.'s flashlight beam drew closer, moving every now and again in an unmarked path as the beam darted up toward the shelves and back down through his walkway. Carley felt herself holding her breath while Lilly reached for a gun.

"We need to fucking go," T.J. said, his words rushed. "Hit up another pharmacy or something. I don't know if Wyatt's gonna make it. He's probably frothing there in the backseat, fucking shit, man."

"Did you check this island? Give me a sec, there's gotta be some epi—holy shit!" 

Eddie's beam caught Carley straight in the eyes and she instinctively squinted, raising her arm in front of her. A brief shadow sheltered her eyes for a moment as Lilly stumbled back, rising from her crouch into a full stand. There were hurried footsteps—T.J.'s—and a split second later, each of the beams dropped as Carley withdrew her Glock, only for her to find the flashlights had been lowered only because everyone else in the small space drew weapons as well.

The men held knives. The women held handguns.

They stood less than two feet away from each other. Nobody made a sound. Nobody moved, with the exception of eyes darting in nervous directions, making fleeting contact with each of the other three people. Scarcely a breath was heard, though Carley felt her heart racing.

The man named Eddie quivered a little and he breathed heavily. Wide frantic eyes were shadowed by a dirtied, well-loved beanie. He held his knife in a reverse grip—a rookie's grip that held the popular misconception of creating quick slices amidst bare-knuckle punches—and Carley knew he would be easy to take in hand-to-hand. The other guy, T.J., stood confident, his knife held in the traditional forward hammer grip. He leaned forward, ready for a fight toeing on the balls of his feet, while Eddie placed his weight on his rear foot.

"Okay," Carley finally said, her voice even though her handgun remained drawn point blank in front of her. "Okay, let's everyone calm down, all right?"

"We're just here looking for meds," the man Carley recognized as Eddie said. "No trouble."

"As are we," Lilly said, her voice tough and significantly more solid than Eddie's. 

"We can all leave here without anyone getting hurt," Carley said. "We have what we need."

"What do you have?" T.J. asked. He gestured his knife toward each of Carley and Lilly's bags. 

"None of your business," Lilly responded.

"If you have something we need," T.J. said, "we're not letting you walk away with it."

"T.J., c'mon man, let's just let them go."

"What do you have?" T.J. asked again, louder. He took a bold step forward and Carley widened her stance, her back foot taking a step back. She caught Lilly's critical eye, she no doubt mistaking Carley's posture to brace fire for retreat. 

"Back off," Carley warned. She raised her Glock a little higher.  "I mean it."

"You fire that and biters will be all over this place in a heartbeat," T.J. dared. "Now we can all go down with them or you can tell me what's in the bag."

Lilly pulled back her jacket, revealing the knife she had holstered on her belt.

"If it comes down to knife fight, then have it your way," sheteased.

"Lilly..." Carley growled. "Don't. We don't have to do this." She looked back toward the men. "Let us go and we all come out of here alive."

"You really think you can take _us?_ " T.J. said, gesturing between him and Eddie.

"Teej, come on man--"

"I haven't gotten ass in a while, lady, so don't tempt me."

" _T.J.!_ What the fuck?! Look, ladies, just.... We're looking for EpiPens. That's it. If you don't have any, okay, cool, we'll leave. Right, Teej? O-or  Lilly—Lilly, that's you're name, right? We'll let you go. We'll stay here. You guys can go."

"Shut the fuck up, Eddie!"

"We have EpiPens," Carley said. "We'll trade you. Let us go and we'll let you have them."

"What the fuck, Carley?!" Lilly shouted. "No deal. We're not trading!"

"This is the kind of shit that happens when you take all the meds," Carley whispered back. "We should've taken what we needed and left."

"We _could_ have left! But Saint Carley had to descend from the moral high ground and—"

T.J. suddenly leapt forward, rashly waving his knife at Carley in attack. Carley swore and moved quickly backwards. She stumbled against the island counter. She kicked out. Her shoe made contact with his gut and he fell against Lilly and Eddie, who both darted forward with T.J. In less than a moment, the four of them were all on the floor, weapons and flashlights dropped, beams of light crisscrossing and rolling along the floor, and shelving units toppling, plastic bottles dropping, pills in bottles rattling to the tiled floor.

"Fuck!" someone swore. 

Carley couldn't distinguish her limbs from anyone else's from the straps of her backpack. She scrambled forward—a gun, was that a gun she felt?—she grabbed it, finding solace in the familiarity of her gripless Glock and frantically searched for the bright red exit sign over the pharmacy counter. She leapt for it. A horrible, guttural sound erupted and a split second later she felt her leg being pulled down from the counter. She kicked and kicked again, her arms flailing as she tried to shrug on her backpack—damn her if she went through all this without the backpack. Still, she clung desperate to the counter's edge like life depended on it. Her heel found hard when she kicked out again, colliding with a crack against someone's cheekbone. Free, Carley tumbled headfirst to the floor on the other side of the counter. She swore.

"Lilly!" she called out amidst the screaming, grunting, and bestial sounds, like bodies crashing against each other in assault. It was too dark to see and she'd lost her flashlight in the assault, but in that same moment she searched for Lilly, T.J. lurched over the counter and tackled her to the ground.

"Give me the EpiPens!" he screamed amidst ragged breaths. He pinned her to the ground, straddling her as he attempted to wrench her backpack from her.

 _Fuck,_ was all she could think. _No_. _Stop._

 _Slow_.

She moved so slow. She always moved so slow.

She tried to free herself from him. To wiggle out from under him. To flail her arms, to punch, to slap. She made contact, but that wasn't enough. She was too weak. She was always so slow. Always so frail. She hated the feel of flesh on flesh, she hated knowing she could hurt this guy but knowing she never could. She hated fights, she hated assault. They were always so brutal, so disorganized, so chaotic for all its intimacy.

God, no wonder she liked guns so much.

And she was free of him. Lilly came out of nowhere and grabbed T.J. by the shoulders, slamming him to the ground. When he attempted to get up, she kneed him in the chin, his head rocking backwards as he collapsed to the floor. Carley saw the glint of a knife in Lilly's hand. She scrambled forward, reaching out, wrapping her fingers around Lilly's leg.

"Don't!" Carley heard herself shout.

"Are you insane?!" Lilly yelled back, staring down at Carley. The knife in her hands was poised, ready to stab.

Despite being down on the floor, Carley steeled her gaze against Lilly's determined one. "They just want EpiPens," Carley said. "Their friend is going to die of a stupid allergic reaction if they don't get back. Leave them."

"Their _friend_ is going to die? _They_ were going to kill _us_!"

"So we have to kill them?!" Carley shouted back. "This isn't some Darwinistic fantasy we're in."

"Tell me how it isn't?! _"_

Carley didn't care. She shook her head as she sluggishly pulled herself up to stand. She reached into Lilly's already unzipped bag and tossed out two boxes of epinephrine autoinjectors.   

"Leave them," she said.

They both turned as T.J. groaned, having been knocked out by Lilly's knee to the face. Carley saw Lilly's knuckles whiten as she tightened the grip around the knife. 

"Fine. Have it your way," Carley said and she turned toward the backdoor. "I'll be outside."

Dark daylight streamed into the boarded up convenience store as she left the convenience store and entered the alley, where a hard downpour abused the downtown streets. A car that hadn't been there when she and Lilly first entered was parked facing theirs, and in defiance of the deluge, Carley made hard eye contact with a passenger in that car. A young Asian man, eyes wide, mouth agape, holding tightly to an unconscious man.

Carley pulled a third EpiPen box from her pocket. She determinedly strode toward the other vehicle, and without a word, tapped the yellow box on the window. The man inside rolled the window down and Carley handed it to him with only a stiff, understanding nod in greeting.

She returned to Kenny's truck afterwards and sat in the driver's seat. Less than a minute passed when Lilly entered and sat in the shotgun seat.

Silence best illustrated the return to the motel. It took the combined efforts of Larry and Mark  to open the gate, wheels pushing against the mud. Before Lilly could exit the car, however, Carley locked her door. Lilly pulled twice at the door handle in instinctual frustration before sending a Carley a glare.

"Did you kill them?" Carley asked her.

Lilly's scowl deepened. In punctuated words, she stiffly said, "I left them."

 


	13. Neck of the Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time: 9 weeks in (Month 3; 2 weeks after the last chapter). 

 

 **The Journalist**  

 **Chapter 13**  

 **Neck of the Woods**  

"See, sometimes the trick is to blow on it," Katjaa said. "Fire needs air to work. So if you blow on the fire just a little bit like this, it's going to get bigger, see?" 

"Whoa!" 

Carley startled awake to Duck and Clementine's impressed cries, her eyes fluttering open to the assaulting sunlight. She heard Katjaa's gentle tutoring, his words soft and patient in the light breeze, hearing them, but not listening. They were only sounds in her periphery, yet nothing captivated her focus.    

"But you've gotta be careful," Katjaa continued. "Because if you blow on it too hard it'll go away. Like when you blow out your birthday candles." 

"Why does fire only need a little bit of wind and not a lot?" Duck asked eagerly. 

"Remember when you ate that giant pizza?" she asked. "That one with ten huge slices all by yourself?" 

"Uh-huh!" 

"What about you, Clementine? You ever eat a really big pizza?" 

"No, my tummy hurts if I try that. But I like pizza!" 

"Well, that's the same with fire," Katjaa said. "Tiny fires need tiny bursts of wind to eat and sometimes you need to feed them that wind. When the fire gets bigger, the fire can take of itself because it can eat the wind around it, but it also needs to eat other things, too, like wood or paper. Like when your I used to feed you when you were a baby, Duck, and when your mom would feed you, Clementine," she added. "Now you're bigger and you can feed yourselves, right? And now that you're bigger, you eat bigger food and different kinds of food." 

"Whoa," Duck said. "See, Clementine! I told you my mom is really smart!" 

Carley rolled her neck and stretched her limbs to spur wakefulness in her body. She ran a hand through her hair, blinking as she did so and faking cognizance in sitting up straight. She reached for her sleeves, preparing to roll them up to her elbows, accustomed to the ritual with the usual humidity, but the weather felt cooler. Breezes no longer hung heavy with murky air, but teased cool and refreshing. She paused, but rolled up her sleeves, a slight smile on her face, happy to embrace the cool weather. As she finished, she felt the RV shake; someone climbed atop the side ladder.  

"Hey," Mark said, appearing over the edge. He found balance in keeping his knees bent, bracing the sudden height while admiring the view in front of him, beyond the green trees and the calm blue sky. "You know, I don't think I've ever seen you fall asleep on watch," he said. 

"Been an exhausting couple of days," Carley admitted, happily accepting the coffee he offered. "What about you? You must be feeling better." 

"All thanks to you and Lilly. Though I don't see why she's been so short with you lately." Mark's expression was muddled with concern. "It's not my place to question her, but I see Lilly distributing rations and you don't exactly get the largest cut." 

"Oh, I've noticed," Carley said with a knowing smile. "First line of defense and I'm happy to get a packet of coffee." 

"I think we all are," Mark added. "It must be boring just keeping watch all the time. At least I get runs between my shifts." 

"You trying to pick a fight?" 

Mark placed a reassuring hand on Carley's shoulder, squeezing slightly. "I just wanted to say I appreciate you."  

A door closed and each turned to see Kenny, Lee and Lilly emerge from the latter's room.  

"Congress was in session," Carley said dryly.  

\--- 

"Hi, Carley..."   

For someone so fixated on keeping watch, at staring so intently at treetops and beyond treelines in the refreshing daylight, it was in poor reflection that Carley could let someone so easily slip past her defenses. In this case, a little girl had managed to quietly climb the RV side ladder and settle herself just behind Carley's lawn chair.   

"Clementine!" Carley exclaimed, though quickly hid her surprise.  

Clementine, ever-bashful, kept her chin tucked to her chest, her eyes peering out from beneath the brim of her stained Dodgers baseball cap. Her grin was quiet, polite and careful, ultimately her staple expression when it came to interacting with the adults who weren't Lee.  

"What are you doing up here?" Carley asked, making sure her voice was gentle and welcoming. "Did you climb up here yourself?"   

"Uh-huh," the little girl replied. "I'm not scared." As if she knew what Carley would say next, she said, "I had a treehouse at home and I'd climb higher than this all the time."   

Carley smiled, impressed. "Really?"   

"Yeah. I know Duck's afraid of heights but he won't admit it."   

"Is that why you're up here? You trying to get away from Duck?"   

"We're playing hide and seek again," Clementine said, sounding exhausted. She looked over her shoulder and Carley, sitting up a little straighter to see over Clementine, saw Duck standing underneath the stairs of the motel's main building. His face was buried in his hands while he loudly counted.    

"And he talks too much," Clementine added.   

"Guess that's why they call him Duck."   

"Wait... why do they call him Duck?"   

"Because he quacks like a duck."   

"Duck doesn't quack," Clementine said determinedly. Her brow furrowed in confusion, eyebrows straight and lips scrunched together, an expression of serious contemplation. Carley couldn't help but see Lee in her likeness. "I know ducks, like bird-ducks--" Clementine shaped her arms like wings and began flapping--"They're really loud. I don't really like them."   

Carley smiled. "And Duck--" she pointed down to Duck, still counting beneath the staircase-- "is really loud, isn't he?"   

"Yeah," she agreed. Carley sent her a soft, knowing expectant look and she felt her lips turn into a smile as Clementine slowly made the connection between Duck and ducks. "Ohhhh!" Clementine exclaimed. "I get it!"     

"Fifty!" Duck called out from below. "Ready or not, here I come!"      

Clementine quickly crouched down. She waddled over to Carley's other side, hidden behind the Carley's seated profile. "Can I stay up here?" she whispered. "To hide?"    

"Be my guest," Carley said with a smile. "I could use the company." 

As Clementine settled on her other side, peaking occasionally around Carley to see where Duck was, Carley couldn't help but think of how ironic this all was. They all hid something after all.  

\--- 

She heard rustling. She felt no breeze.  

Collectively, it was only the group's third run into town since the food poisoning. Lee was the first to recover out of the usual runners, followed gradually by Mark then Kenny. Today, the guys ran into town with what felt like the whole camp, for once including both Lilly and Katjaa. Katjaa desperately needed meds, and the stunt at the convenience store two weeks back plus the added need for specific medical supplies beckoned her to join them—"just once," she said—on the supply run.  

So when Carley saw Lee—and only Lee—stumble into view, beelining for the motel gates and at least a dozen walkers floundering after him, she knew something had gone terribly wrong. 

"Lee!" Clementine yelled. 

"Shit! Clem, stay here!" Carley yelled. She slung both the rifle and axe around her back and slid down the ladder. As she sprinted for the gates, she checked for her Glock, still tucked in the small of her back.  

Lee reached the gates before she did, and he struggled against the chain-linked fence gate. 

"Carley, the lock! Get the lock!" he yelled. 

"Got it! Here!" She tossed the axe over the fence. The walkers drew closer and Carley sprinted the two steps from each end of the dumpster, slamming her foot against the wheel brakes to release the locking mechanisms. 

She wrapped her fingers around the dumpster and tried to pull back as Lee drove the axe into the skull of the closest walker. The dumpster trudged at a terribly slow pace, much slower than usual. God, she didn't even think it was moving. 

"Lee!" she called, and he hurried back toward the gates, throwing his shoulder into the fence, driving his weight into the ground. He slipped once, then twice, his foot unable to find a hold in the mud that accumulated from the past week's scattered rainstorms. And Carley knew the dumpster would refuse to move so long as its wheels remained sealed in the mud.  

"Behind you!" she yelled. 

Lee turned in time and kicked at a walker before slamming the axe into its skull. Another drew forward and he shoved it hard in the chest before slicing its head off. He swore and turned, tossing the axe back over the fence, yelling, "Cover me!" as he hooked both his hands and a foot in the holes of the fence, climbing, despite the barbed wire that wrapped over the top. The greater part of the small group of walkers closed in and the leading one grabbed at Lee's ankle. 

Carley climbed atop the dumpster, pulling the screwdriver from out of her back pocket and driving it into the skull of the closest walker she could reach through chain-linked fence. More of them piled along the fence, all the more easier for her to reach out and stab. 

Slow. Again she felt herself moving so slowly and everything around her pass by too quickly. With Lee pressed against the fence as he climbed, kicking as much as he was climbing, and walkers reaching for him, piling against the fence, their combined weight and his momentum was enough to push the dumpster gradually back. And as Carley took a step sideways to avoid a walker's curious hand from reaching through the fence, she lost her footing on the slippery surface of the dumpster and toppled off. 

"Carley! Lee!" Clementine yelled from atop the RV roof.  

An especially malnourished walker squeezed into the small opening and lunged for Carley. She swore, searching for the screwdriver that was somewhere far out of reach and she quickly settled for drawing her gun. She unlatched the safety, slid back the hammer, and hooked her index finger around the trigger... only for Lee to come and slam his axe into the back of its head. 

"No guns!" he yelled. He reached a hand out to her and both scrambled quickly back toward the dumpster, driving as much for as they could into closing the gate before any more could scramble in. Larry, finally, came out of nowhere spewing his usual wave of profanities and added weight to their drive, finally sealing the gate.  

Eight walkers still moaned outside the gates, but for now they were safe. They could pick them off later.  

"Clem?" Lee called out. 

"I'm here!" the girl called out, waving from on top of the rooftop. She moved quickly down the ladder and Carley saw Duck peak out from where he hid behind the RV.  

"Are you okay?" she asked Lee, running up to him, Duck in tow. 

"I'm fine, sweet pea. I'm fine," he said. Turning to everyone, he said, urgently, "Listen, we've gotta go."  

"Where's Lilly?!" Larry demanded, crossing his arms. 

"And everyone else?" Carley added. 

"Back in town," Lee huffed as he wrapped an arm around Clem's shoulders, his body already positioned away from the group, ready to move. "Look, we need to get upstairs." 

"Wait a goddamn minute," Larry said. "What do you mean Lilly's back in the fucking town?"  

"Lee, tell us what's going on," said Carley. 

"Where's my mom and dad?" asked Duck. 

"Okay, okay, okay!" Lee said, raising both his hands. "We were all on the same street, just up the road. Went for different stores, cleared out a few, but there—there was a whole mob of walkers. They just came around the corner." 

"So... you don't know where my parents are...?" Duck voiced carefully. 

"They're in a pharmacy, Duck," Lee said. "But I'm sure they're fine." 

"And Lilly?" asked Larry, hands still folded tightly over his puffed-out chest.  

"Grocery store next door." 

"You didn't stay with her? You left her alone?!" 

Lee sent Larry a vicious look. "She wanted me to search parked cars for supplies," Lee responded with grit teeth. 

"Wait, so you left the three of them behind?" Carley asked. 

"There was enough time to tell them to hide in the stores." 

"So why didn't you stay with them?" Carley asked. 

"You _lead_ those monsters here?!" Larry accused. 

"They were already on their way over!" Lee yelled back at Larry, pointing past the gates. "They're just up the street! I ran back to _warn_ you; there are _hundreds_ of them and they're all headed this way!"   


	14. Tact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my coworker has a band/musical group called Glory (not to be confused with the Latino or Russian music group) and they have a song called "Heavens Symphony." And that's all you need to know about this chapter. (The song is on Spotify and Soundcloud, winkwink).
> 
> I also apologize for longevity. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so, so sorry. I didn't want to break the flow of this chapter.

**The Journalist**    

 **Chapter 14**    

 **Tact**     

It took a low-powered scope to see the herd shambling from blocks up the hilly road. Slogging along degenerating muscles and torn clothing, a collective moan evocative of primitive humanity gathered the attention of all other living things in its wake. Birds flew and cawed away from electric lines, squirrels scurried away and down the street, acorns stuffed in their mouths; hell, even the wind blew downwind of them, lugging with it the overwhelmingly putrid scent of rotting flesh. Three minutes, Carley estimated, before the herd reached the motel.   

Reinforcing their perimeter would be a pointless endeavor but with any luck, the walkers would stumble past, few of them brushing along the fence in their mindless march, but nonetheless trudging forward. The five of them—Clementine, Lee, Duck, Carley and Larry—unanimously found solace on the second floor of the motel building having blockaded the single stairway with Mark's SUV and various pieces of furniture. As unlikely a breach past the gates was, they would take no chances.     

They holed up in the room Lee and Clem shared. Blinds slightly drawn to see outside despite the dimming sunlight, they made sure no light filtered from their room. Sunset came with the first trickle of the herd and night soon followed. The group didn't dare light obnoxious flashlights, though they managed with subtle candlelight, steady, ambiguous flickers illuminating just enough for their small party to move around.   

Duck grew restless, fidgeting where he sat on Clem's bed. He didn't say anything.   

"I'm not scared!" he said when Clementine asked if he was okay. "My dad's the toughest guy here. He can fight all of the monsters. And if he gets hurt, my mom can fix him. They'll be back in no time."     

The kids passed time with coloring books and playing what Larry called the quiet game.

"Whoever can be quiet the longest wins a _prize_ ," he said with the gusto of a used car salesman supplementing his income as an uncommitted children's magician. Eventually, the kids fell asleep in the monotony and Larry was left entertaining himself by staring out the window.    

"There's a lot of them fuckers," he muttered, but Carley knew his eyes scanned more for signs of his daughter than the number of walkers trudging through.    

Meanwhile, Lee attempted to tend to the wounds he sustained in climbing over the barbed wire fence. He'd chosen to ignore the bleeding while sealing the stairs, but the adrenaline that soared through his veins in the moment of urgency since faded. His hands stung painfully, sharp enough that any sudden movement, any bristling of skin against clothing, would result in a sharp intake of breath.   

"I think I've— _shhtt_ —got it," Lee said when Carley asked if he needed any help. His gasp, spurred by pain, was poorly timed in his attempt to persuade her of unimpairment.   

"What, with one arm?" she said. Carley placed the bucket of supplies down between them as she sat across him in a hard-backed wooden chair. Her own hands, having fallen from the dumpster, had minor scrapes along the palms.  

She reached down, grabbing at a bag of cotton balls and a bottle of povidone-iodine as Lee unbuttoned his battered, blue button down. He seethed and she saw his jaw clench as he bit down hard. In the flickering candlelight, she saw his shirt snagged onto the raw, jagged flesh of his forearms, deeply cut open by barbed wire.

"I've gotcha," Carley said.   

She learned forward and the minor apprehensions of quickly volunteering to administer medical aid dawned on her. In what felt like ages in her head, but in reality occurred in less than a second, she closed what was once a comfortable, casual gap between them as she reached forward, tugging first at the sleeve of Lee's uninjured arm before moving to carefully free the other, Lee gingerly freeing his left arm from the blood-splattered sleeve. Still, Carley felt her breathing hitch in her throat from his proximity. Her movements felt forced, inhibited. She couldn't breathe. She needed to breathe. Breathe.   

"You okay?" he asked her. "Carley?" He placed a hand on her arm and she tried to suppress the contraction she knew would happen. She flinched anyways and he frowned, withdrawing his hand.

"I should be asking you that," she said, jesting enough to fool even herself.   

His frown stubbornly remained, and he responded with a skeptical "I'm fine." He swallowed. "You, uh, know how to dress cuts like these?"   

She welcomed the change in subject. "Antiseptic and some ACE bandages. Your forearm's cut deep but I'm not exactly qualified for sutures. Butterfly bandages should do until Katjaa gets back."   

He nodded and turned to look over his shoulder. "Clem, Duck? You guys wanna learn how to dress a woun--"   

That's right. The kids had fallen asleep.   

"They played a lot of hide-and-seek today," Carley said.     

"Not much to keep the kids entertained," he added as he scooted his chair forward as Carley spilled some povidone-iodine onto a cotton ball. The dried blood faded to the yellow-brown stain of the chemical. The room immediately flooded with its sour scent. They made brief eye contact as she reached forward, swiping the cotton ball along and around the cuts on his forearm. 

"Lee?" she asked, if only to break the silence.  

"Yeah?"   

"I appreciate you coming back to tell us about the horde," she said. She glanced behind her, toward the window. Thanks to the glow of the bright, waxing moon above them, she could see the horde of walkers continued to trudge through, their pace slow and their moans loud. Many of them bounced and dragged their limp corpses along the fence, recoiling backwards against each push.

She heard Larry scoff in disagreement, and she prepared herself for his retort, but it never came. He remained at the other window, his arms tightly crossed over his chest.    

"I had to," Lee said. He held out his palms where over half a dozen cuts crossed jagged over each other in each hand. She knew he sensed her hesitation when she finally took one of his hands—and eventually the other—to disinfect them. 

"I needed to come back and warn you guys. You, Clem, Duck... Larry," he said, raising his eyebrows at the final name. 

"Well, thank you," she said as she reached for a roll elastic bandages and began to dress each of Lee's palms. 

" _Thank you_ ," he returned, his smile slight and appreciative. 

She felt her lips curl up slightly. She wound the roll around his hands in silence and cut the bandage when she finished, grateful for self-adhesive technology. She leaned forward, this time to pseudo-stitch the cuts on Lee's forearm with butterfly bandages. She carefully guided his arm to rest on his knee. She found if she timed her exhales with when she needed to touch him, she wouldn't feel so... frozen.

One stretch of laceration raced up his forearm, far enough she couldn't reach without leaning forward enough to breach her innermost personal space. She swallowed, however, and scooted forward just as Lee did, having noticed the same dilemma. Their knees touched and the knuckles of his bandaged hand rested just above hers as she finished applying the bandages on his forearm. 

She carefully wet a couple cotton balls with a small splash of water and rinsed his arm of the leftover povidone-iodine, her hand holding his wrist as she did so.

"And you're done," Carley announced with a grateful smile.

"Thank you," he said, pulling his arm back. He flexed his hands and extended and contacted his arms as if to get a feel for whether or not the bandages would inhibit any walker slaughtering movements. "I really do appreciate you, you know."

A loud snore broke their focus and both she and Lee turned to see Larry had kicked up his feet and had fallen asleep. They exchanged looks in a way that said, "About time." 

"You—uh—wanna get in a little shuteye?" Lee asked. "I'll take watch, wake you up when the horde clears up or when Kenny and them come back." 

Carley turned her attention to the light blue carpet at her feet. Since the drugstore with Lilly, sleep once again eluded her. The look on Lee's face said he could all but tell she had trouble sleeping—that or wishful thinking suggested he cared that much. The gaunt in her cheekbones and the dark under her eyes weren't exactly hard to miss either. And if there was one health requirement the apocalypse should have brought along, it ought to be endless opportunities to sneak in hours of naps. 

"I'd rather be in my room, if that doesn't make things difficult," she said.

He nodded, looking at the wall that separated their two rooms. A closet-turned-doorway allowed for adjoining entry, though neither ever used it. 

"I've, uh, always kept mine unlocked," Lee said.

Carley nodded. "…Me too." 

\---

Acknowledging an open-door policy came with uncanny timing.

At first, she pushed him away. Kicked him, punched him, even landed a couple good ones in the gut in blind panic. 

"Car, it's me! It's me. Lee. I'm here. I'm here...."

It was dark. There were no lights. Even the faint flicker of candlelight from Lee's adjacent room wasn't enough to illuminate the vaguest of her surroundings as she blinked herself into wakefulness. She felt her own left hand stretched out toward the night desk, the tips of her fingers touching only the cold wood. 

But on either side of her, hands held her arms, not holding her down—actually barely holding her at all. His fingers dug slightly into the folds of her sleeves, pressing into her skin in reassurance. And with that uncanny timing of his, he repeated, "I'm here. You're safe," as if to emphasize here and now and no other hellish place and no other hellish times.

In her head, she knew she was safe, that everything was as okay as okay could get. But her muscles still felt hard, still contracted, still trembled against him.

"Relax," he said. His thumb ran up and down her arm as if to gently soothe her. 

God, she thought she must have looked so stupid, like a child. She was better than this. She was an adult. She could take care of herself. She forced her muscles to relax, counterintuitive as it was, and only felt her grow increasingly rapid and shallow.

"Breathe with me," he said

She closed her eyes. Breathe. Steady. Calm. No, fast, shallow, labored.

"Car, breathe with me. Feel my chest. Breathe with me." 

She felt the bed sink beneath her as he sat down and gently pulled her toward him. His hand wrapped around her shoulders, her head resting on his chest, and half of her body leaning against him, against his warmth. 

He was too close. And all of her felt taut, rigid, stiff. No longer was her breathing rapid—in fact she could hardly breathe at all. She wasn't breathing. She couldn't breathe.

"Breathe with me," he kept saying, his voice low and soothing.

 Yet as tense as she felt, as much as her body didn't want this, she _wanted_ this. 

His chest rose and fell deeply, evenly. She followed them. Slowly at first, definitely off rhythm. Between inhales and exhales, he held his breath, and she'd close her eyes and let all her thoughts accumulate before releasing them in gradual exhale. They did that for a while. She normally counted her breaths, but she lost them now. In. Hold. Out. In. Hold. Out. She shook with each inhale and exhale, foreign to whatever Lee was doing. In. Hold. Out. And finally, they were on pace. 

"...Lee?" she heard herself say finally.

"I'm here, Car." 

She didn’t know why she said his name. She didn't have anything to say; there were no thoughts that needed verbal validation.

"You wanna talk about it?" he asked.

"I don't know what to say." 

She heard his smile as he said, "Whatever you want is a good place to start." 

She entertained some ideas, some sentence starters, but they all seemed pointless to her. Thoughts raced in and out, all of them needing context, none of her willing to divulge any of that context. It was a jumble of feelings she could  barely describe with her senses, much less with metaphors or ambiguous symbols. A reporter her ass, as words failed her.

"You don't get much sleep," he offered. 

"Mmm," she mumbled.

"Has this been going on since... since before you—uh—socked Lilly a couple of weeks back?"

"On and off," she said. "Probably since the drugstore."

"….Since Doug," Lee said. 

"Since... Doug."

She moved her head, adjusted it so she didn't lean so much on him.

"It's my fault," he said. "I know I said this before but I tried. I couldn't save you both. I..." Lee swallowed, "I wasn't quick enough. There wasn't enough time and I wasn't fast enough and I thought... I thought he could hold on just a little bit longer as I ran to you but, but...I couldn't get there. I'm sorry."

"Lee, I—" she exhaled— "I barely knew Doug. He was a great guy and I liked him but what happened to him was an accident. I don't blame you for that. _You_ saved _me_ and why me and not him could be as simple as I had a gun or pathetic chivalrous delusions. I accept that I'm alive, that I'm here. And I owe you for that."

"You don't owe me anything, Carley," he said. "And you don't have to answer this if you don't want to, but what is it?" he asked. "Why can't you sleep?"

Oh, she knew perfectly well why she couldn't sleep. She knew that echoes of past jobs and past events reflected onto current times like clockwork, clockwork a history professor could no doubt construct like a jigsaw puzzle, if only he had all the pieces, all the evidence and documents and illustrative works. They were mirrors of her most terrifying times, of her greatest fears, and they haunted her like gothic poetry with unsightly assaults on her senses. Sights of the dead and the living dead, of those deserving death but living the dream in the most corrupt display of humanity, and those dying and destined to die but with eyes too wide and too pure and too hopeful for the fate they were destined to die by; of cries of unfiltered panic, of final words too quick to be thought out yet darkly eternal to those who heard their utterances; of the scent of poor hygiene, of sweat and morning breath and raw body odor mingling with the gunpowder musk of primal fear and bloodlust; of dry mouths and white tongues and chapped lips lapping at prepackaged meals and too-watery stews and instant coffee, too strong and forthcoming to turn away not that any would dare too for fear of famine; of body contact, of feeling, of knowing warmth was with you and those you trusted until there was no one and no trust and therefore no warmth, that cold skin was only an absence of warm and a product on foreign freezing breezes assaulting her skin while her body shunted warmth to the core where it mattered most, that tactile meant tact, and that meant being too wary of those around her and hardening to think her own 98.6 degrees of average body temperature was the only warmth she could have—that she could allow—despite her apparently unyielding faith in humanity. That there was more to what she saw, and heard, and smelled, and tasted, and felt. That there was that glimmer of a silver lining hovering somewhere out there. And God, who cared what happened to her before—what happened before shit hit the fan didn't matter, right?—but it was a mistaske to think that the past would never influence those who were affected by it.

She hated lying. Despised lying. It was one of her qualities that matched her up with journalism so well. Even white lies could scarcely be blurred into justification. But lies now? Please. They all had skeletons in their closets, the lies, deceptions, omissions—whatever could get them through the next day. And she was no exception. She wasn't ready to admit hers yet.

"Drugstore," she finally muttered. "Chalk it up to the drugstore." 

That wasn't the truth, and she knew he knew it.

"Okay," he said and she felt him nod.

They remained that way, lying there in silence, their breathing still in sync with each other, deep and steady and quiet.

When she spoke next, he almost laughed at how practical her subject choice was.

"How's Congress?" she asked him.

"Barely a Congress," he said. "If you're gonna keep calling it that."  

"You know I do it ironically."

"Irony, huh? Well, that's one way to describe this world," he said. "The walking dead, huh?"

"Maybe _we_ ' _re_ the walking dead."

"Don't you start now," he said. Digressing, he added, "Lilly and Kenny pulled me aside today."

"Yeah?" she said. "More he-said-she-said?"        

He exhaled in amusement and she smiled, feeling his body vibrate. "No. They pulled me aside _together_ ," he said.        

"Uh-huh...."        

"They want to stop arguing. Want to start working together so we can get more stuff done." 

Carley's eyes flickered past the open door frames that connected the two rooms, watching the echoes of candlelight flicker against the walls.

Lee still spoke, his voice somber, saying, "It's no secret we're running out of food. A couple days  at best, at half rations. Kenny, Mark and I started splitting up when we go into town. Cover more ground."     

Carley nodded. "But still no luck.”   

"And it's not just about food—not that it ever is. It's about how we get things done. Split up, don't split up; risk going into town, risk going hunting; kill survivors for their stuff or let them be."   

"Wait, what?" Carley exclaimed raising her voice. She turned her head up towards him.    

"Yeah, that was an actual argument today." 

Carley felt his arm drape over her back as he continued speaking.

"We didn't do it, of course," he said, "but... that's how desperate they think our situation's become. Lilly won't give me an exact number, but it's gotta be bad. And now they want me to mediate."

"You already mediate."        

"You're not wrong," he said cautiously. "They want me to do it in an 'official capacity.' 'Third party' their arguments and find the 'happy median.' But it seems like they're always gunning for me. If they can't blame each other, they blame whoever gets in between them."        

"They want your approval," Carley said.   

She felt Lee shake his head. "Those two can fight over leadership all they want. I'm just looking to make sure we survive this."        

"You could argue that's what they're trying to do, too. It's what we're _all_ trying to do." He turned to her, curious, and she continued. "You don't realize it, Lee," Carley said, "and I don't mean to make this political, but it's almost like you have a constituency." Her eyes traced the folds on his shirt, distinguishing the highlights from the shadows in the flickering candlelight of the opposite room.

"Everyone likes you," she added. "You're democratic, you seek counsel, you care. Lilly and Kenny, meanwhile, are fighting to hold the reigns. In their mind, their ideas are the right ideas; they like to think they know what's best and seeking input isn't their forte. But it is yours; If you approve of one idea, it means it's sound and that, usually, the group collectively approves too."        

" _Or_ they can just ask the group themselves."        

"Please." Carley entertained a smile. "Lilly has a bone to pick with everyone in the group and may very well have the pride of Lucifer herself."

"I think you're mistaking her for Larry."

She chuckled, his dig cheeky and unexpected. "Then Lucifer's daughter. But still, she's not very relatable to anyone in the group outside of her dad."

"She's trying. It's not easy when no one's willing to cooperate."

"Maybe that's because the ideas are bad ones," she retorted. "And Kenny's biggest driving force is his family. Everyone else can shove it if what they say goes against the best interests of Katjaa and Duck."        

"Hey, Ken's a good guy. He's helped me out a lot."        

"I know he has and I'm sure he is a good guy, but when push comes to shove, he's working for his family." She paused and when she spoke next, her voice was softer. "Granted, everyone's working for something. Kenny has his family, Lilly has her dad. You have Clem. Mark and I... well, it's good to know we’re individually united. Team solo."

"Am I watching Survivor: Undead Apocalypse edition?"

"The alliances aren't obvious, Lee. But they're there. One bad thing has to happen and this group falls apart." 

"I'm not letting that happen," Lee said. "And don't sound so foreboding." 

She smiled and their conversation paused. "You know you've become their go-to guy, right?" she asked. 

"Lilly and Kenny's?"

"Mmhm. It's a little funny, given how quickly they argue. Things would be far too heated if I had another sidekick to rival off against." His fingers tightened around her, and she waited for him to speak. Finally, he said, "I want you to help me."

"What?"   

"Clem.... She's my go-to-girl and she'd be in the pits if I said otherwise."

"Rightly so," Carley said, smiling.

"But... I'd like it if you helped me bring them to terms," he added. "I know you see things, Car. You see a lot more than you're involved with, you've got a broad perspective, level head, so help me get this job right. You're always looking out for the group."   

"Literally," Carley entertained.

"I don't mean it literally."

"Then Kenny and Lilly would say otherwise," she said.

"I disagree with them," he said, angling his head so he could see her. "You know strategy. It's tactics they keep you on lookout duty. Hell, you were the one who devised the whistle to keep us on our toes if anything happened near our perimeter."

"It's a whistle and it was Clementine's idea," Carley corrected.

"You pitched it. Look, either way, you mean something to this group. And to me. Hell, I know they shut you out, but if I'm playing rent-a-ref, they need to realize I'm looking at all the shots here. And from atop that RV, you've got the widest angle."   

Carley squinted, amused at his pitch. It was worthy of a third-party presidential candidate selecting their VP. 

"That was cheesy, huh?" he said.

"Very. With a proposal like that, no wonder you went into history. You never dabbled in poli-sci?" she humored.   

She felt him tense, the even breathing she grew accustomed to staggered into sudden solemnity. Carley knew she cracked the wrong joke.  

"...Once _,_ " Lee said.    

Her fingers, small and petite, wrapped around his wrist.   

"I'll do it," she said.    

But when he spoke next, it was if he hadn't heard her response. "Carley."

"Yeah?"

"Remember how I brought up that time you—uh—socked Lilly in the face?"

"That was an accident—"

"I know, I know," Lee said. "We fought about that but I said... I said you're the only person I don't tiptoe around. And, look, I don't want you to tiptoe around me, either," he said. "I'm here for you, Car. I need you to know that."

His wrapped hand wound his way into hers and Carley didn't protest. In fact, she, though her hands felt hard and her movements severe, she managed to squeeze the fingers of his left hand in acknowledgement. His rough, callused hands inside her scraped palms, and as bizarre as that felt, she admitted she liked it.

"I'm here for you too," she said. 

 


	15. "Six Almonds"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've done it, guys, we've made it to canon! Takes place 3 days after the last chapter.  

**The Journalist**  

 **Chapter 15**  

**"Six Almonds"**

The sound of the ball hitting metal trash cans lulled her to sleep. 

Or at least it nearly did.  

Her eyelids reigned heavy and closing them was as close to sleep as she got. She heard the sounds of Clem kicking the ball, of Duck telling Katjaa about his new drawing, and even of Larry hammering away at the fence—a priority task after the wandering horde damaged great parts of it.  

The Rent-a-Fence prize they'd gathered months earlier had significantly weakened against the walker horde. Larry certainly nearly had an aneurysm when they ventured out the next morning to find the slightest bit of pressure on the fences would topple their perimeter. They needed replacing, and they improvised now by flipping the dumpsters to the outer part of the perimeter and using a stash of two-by-fours and as much plywood they could scavenge from the city. Securing their perimeter became a priority task few were willing to handle, especially when scavenging for food seemed to be the more immediate struggle.

She yelled Mark scared the other day when he accidentally swiped her rations, leading to an argument everyone knew was bound to happen: a squabble demanding the reality of their food supply. Lilly, and Larry by extension, circumvented the discussion with the blame-game. Of course, Lilly was “never at fault” for rationing their now meager supply. Of course it was Lee, Kenny and Mark’s fault for “failing to meet supply run quotas.” If only more members of their group could “contribute to runs without putting the motel at risk.” Well, darn. 

In the simplest of observations, group tension was at an all-time high.

So she lay there, battling for sleep and strength to ignore the hunger pangs. She checked her pocket watch in her restlessness. Seven hours since she last ate: a half-dozen mulberries Lee managed to pick from a tree.

The wind rustled at her back as she lay huddled on the couch. She liked the breeze, and as much as she may have found better sleep in her room, the cool weather swept over her refreshingly.

Then she heard the whistle. 

Her body spurred to life and she toppled off the couch, crouching forward for cover and a good angle over the fence. Lilly stood atop the RV, her body fully exposed and rifle drawn high in alert.  

Lee's voice yelled from beyond the perimeter.  

"Get the gates open!" he yelled. "We've got wounded!"   

Carley stood and scrambled forward. Had she heard him right? _Wounded_?

Lee pushed the dumpster gates open, followed quickly by an unfamiliar teenage boy, Kenny, and Mark, who carried a man who very recently underwent a hasty leg amputation. Voices began speaking at once.

"What happened?!" 

"Where should I put him?" 

"Who the hell are these people?!" 

"What's going on?" she voiced.

"I don't have time to explain." 

"Lee," said Clementine. "Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine." 

"Put him in the truck. I'll see what I can do." 

"Kat, can you fix him?"  

"Jesus, Ken, I—I—I don't know!" 

"Lee! Lee!" Lilly's voice grew increasingly impatient as everyone talked over each other in the sudden chaos. " _Lee_!" 

Carley turned, as did everyone else. Voices were suddenly silenced. 

"What the hell?!" Lilly said. "You can't just be bringing new people here! What are you thinking?!" 

"Hey, you wanna calm down for a fucking minute?" Kenny added. 

"Hey!"—Larry now—"Watch your mouth—" 

"No, I don't!" yelled Lilly. 

Carley shook her head. And there they were—going at it again.   

"I want to know why you thought bringing more mouths to feed was a good idea!" Lilly demanded.

"He would have _died_ if we left him," Lee said.

"So what?!" said Larry.  

"We are _not_ responsible for every struggling survivor we come across," Lilly said. "We have to focus on _our_ group! Right here, right now!" She lunged forward, an index finger pointed up.

Carley bit down on her jaw. "Well, hang on!" she interjected, seeing Lee hesitate in his response and having gathered the pitiful look on the teenager's face. "We haven't even talked to these people yet. Maybe they _can_ be helpful." 

"Come on, Lilly, these are people," Mark added. "People trying to survive just like us. We've got to stick together to survive." 

Lilly's scowl deepened. "The only reason you're here is because you had food," she said to him. "Enough for _all_ of us. But that food is almost gone—we've got maybe a week's worth left." She turned, scowl still carved deep into her face as she glared at the teenager. "And I don't suppose you guys are carrying any groceries, are you?" 

The teenager, a lanky high schooler with a blue and white letterman bearing the initials SM stood rattled. With Lilly's intimidating presence waiting on his answer, he managed to stammer out a weak, "Uh... n-n-no...."

"What's sharing food to saving a life?" Mark exclaimed.

"Are you stupid?!" Lilly shot back. "Food _keeps_ us alive. No food, nobody lives. You wanna know what dividing zero looks like? It's still zero and you've just made it worse on everyone here. Are you willing to give up _your_ rations for people _you don't know_?!"

Mark clenched his jaw. "Fine," he said, shaking his head. "You guys fight it out then." Though he once stood determined and eager to defend the boy, Mark glanced only at him briefly as he departed. "Welcome to the family, kid," he said. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Carley saw Clementine approach and they made eye contact. The girl looked briefly at the teenager, then to the RV before looking back to Carley. Carley nodded.  

"Come over here," Clementine said, grabbing onto the boy's hand. "Come see what I drew." 

"What?" he protested. "No, I—" 

"Just come on, okay?" And as small as she was, she pulled his hand and led him away from the argument. 

"You know," Kenny said in the midst of Clem pulling the boy away, crossing toward Lilly, "you like to think you're the leader of this little group, but we can make our own goddamn decisions. This isn't your own _personal dictatorship_!"  

"Oh, come on!" Carley said, receiving glares from both Lilly and Kenny. "You're being dramatic!" 

"Did anyone ask you?" Kenny said. 

"See that's your problem," she replied. "You never seem to ask anyone! Either of you!" She glanced at both Lilly and Kenny.

"You're telling me we have to ask permission to _save_ _lives_?!" Kenny asked. "Ding-dong, let me just fill out the proper paperwork then. Hope he doesn't _bleed to death_ while I initial!"  

"And what," Lilly said, "Lee's blameless for tromping in with more mouths to feed!" 

"That's not what I'm saying!" Carley defended. "This isn't about that or me or Lee or even saving lives! Everything always turns into a power struggle between you two, and I'm not going to be a part of that!"  

Carley exhaled and briskly left the group. Mark had the right idea walking away from this, and as much as the look on Lee's face pleaded for her to stay and help him sort this out, her eyes ached too much, her stomach too famished, and her energy, patience and even what little adrenaline her body managed to pump out in this bit of chaos beyond depleted.  

She made eye contact with Mark from where he stood near the far end of their makeshift fence. He crossed his arms and shook his head and she approached him. 

"Team solo?" he said exhaustively as he raised a fist for her to bump. 

"Team solo," she said, and their knuckles briefly grazed against each other. "Hey, about the other day, the whole ration thing...."

Mark shook his head. "Don't worry about it. It was my mistake anyways, reaching for your rations and all when you've been getting the shorter end of the stick."

"That doesn't excuse anything," Carley replied. "We let even the most trivial of things break us down and we all go over the edge." She tilted her chin up toward Lilly and Kenny. She exhaled. "I don't get it." 

"What makes you think I do?" Mark asked.

"I don't," Carley shrugged. "You'd think three months of everyone collectively trying to survive would make this easier, but it doesn't." 

"Big things, small things, it doesn't matter now," he said, bending down and grabbing a hammer and a two-by-four from the group's dwindling stack. "They'll fight over anything." 

Carley reached for the box of nails and handed him one as he began reinforcing the wall. Wordlessly, she held the other end of the two-by-four.  

"They're all looking after their own people," Carley said. "And I think that's what makes this even more frustrating." 

"Personally I don't think Larry needs much looking after. Give the geezer his nitro, and he's as healthy as he comes. But Lee and Kenny? They're looking out for the kids. Maybe that's why they're so different." 

"Maybe," she agreed. "Even then, Lee and Kenny are a lot more different in their quote unquote parenting techniques than you think."

"How's that? Nail." 

She handed him another nail. "Kenny's got a more hands-on approach. I've seen him teach Duck how to shoot, how to strip and clean both a handgun and a rifle, how to skin and cook rabbits and squirrels, and who knows what else.

"Meanwhile," she added as Mark reached out for another nail and she handed him one, "Lee has a softer approach. He teaches Clem with words. He knows she needs to verbally understand things, that she needs explanations with whys and hows. And she's observant. She notices things and Lee notices that, too. He knows he can raise her by example, and if she has any questions, that they have an open door policy. 

"To put it mildly--"she handed Mark another nail--"Kenny teaches Duck everything he can to survive. Lee teaches Clem everything he can so she can _live_. It's hard and soft kills." 

"Skills." 

"Huh?"  Carley raised an eyebrow.

"You Freudian slipped," Mark said, "You said hard and soft _kills_. I think you meant 'hard and soft skills.'" 

"I did? Uh, yeah, I guess so." 

"But I see what you mean," Mark digressed, "Though... maybe it's because Duck's a boy and Clem's a girl? Not to enforce gender stereotypes or anything, but, well, you know, parents will raise kids of different genders different ways." 

Carley shook her head. "I'd like to think we're beyond that," she said. "Doesn't matter if you're a boy or a girl. We've all gotta survive. We've all gotta _live_."

She handed Mark the box of nails when Clementine, who sat on the parking lot ground coloring on a wooden pallet, looked over her shoulder at Carley.

"Good job on the wall. I’m gonna keep an eye in the kids,” she said.

"Yeah, yeah," Mark said.

Out of the corner of her eye as she went to sit with Duck, Clementine and the teenager, she saw Kenny storm away from the argument and angrily plump down on the beat-up sofa underneath the RV's sunshade. She frowned and turned her attention to the teenager, reaching a hand out over his shoulder. She hesitated and withdrew.

"Ben," Clementine said as Carley took a seat in the nearby lawn chair. "This is Carley. She's usually the lookout, but that was Lilly today. Carley's really good with guns and she's also really nice."

Carley smiled. "Hey, Ben," she said, her voice gentle.

"Hi."

Not the most enticing of greetings, but Carley couldn't blame him. His friend back there on the pick-up truck didn't look like he would fare well.

Lilly's voice drew Carley's attention.

"There's today's food rations," she said loudly, shoving a handful of rations at Lee. "There's not enough for everybody. Good _luck_."

She caught Lee's eye as he looked around the camp. _This wasn't going to be easy_ , she read.

Sighing as her stomach grumbled with poor timing, she looked to Ben and said, "Crazy morning, huh?"

"We were just out looking for water," Ben said. "It all happened so fast. We had a map that said there was a river not too far from our camp and then... and then it all happened. He—my band director, Mr. Parker—just started yelling and we see he's got this bear trap around his ankle. Maybe a minute passed before those guys showed up, but... but it felt like ages. We were scared. So scared. And—and then, him--" he gestured at Lee--"he chopped off his leg; said it was the only way to free him and then the freaks showed up and Travis... Travis...."

"Travis?"

"He was my friend. The freaks got him as we were trying to get away."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"If Mr. Parker doesn't make it, I'll be the only one left. I don't want to be alone." He glanced up at her, panic and fear vibrant in his eyes. Carley felt helpless, unable to make any promises. Knowing Lee, he would try to convince Lilly to let Ben stay, but as Lee bleakly walked around camp, no doubt trying to figure out how to ration the food, Ben's time here could easily be so limited as a few hours.

"You said you had a camp?" Carley said gently.

"It was just me, Travis and Mr. Parker," Ben said. "Not much of a camp. Yours looks... safer, but there were more of us. Half of us snuck out one night. Thought they could make it on the road rather than hold up in one place. I don't know where they are."

"Oh."

"Can I—can I ask how bad the food supply is?" Ben said softly.

"Bad," Carley said. "You heard her—maybe a week's worth of rations left. I know I haven't had a real meal in weeks. A peach and some soup crackers yesterday."

"I had cheese and crackers," Duck piped up. "I always get cheese and crackers and it's starting to get boring."

"Your camp—where you stayed I mean," Carley said, "you didn’t have any food, did you?"

"We have some. We left it there when we went for water. Thought we’d be right back."

Carley bit down on her jaw and suppressed her hand from running over her famished stomach. "How much?"

"A couple canned stuff. Soup, stews mostly. A really big jar of applesauce."

"Wow, I'm so hungry, I'd even eat of all that!" Duck said as he dug his brown crayon into his sheet of paper. 

Carley turned and glanced over her shoulder as Clementine stood up. She watched as the girl walked toward Lee, speaking with him about her missing hat. Carley noticed it went missing the other day and even took to helping Clementine look for it, but it seemed it straight vanished from the campsite.

Sighing, Lee looked toward Carley as a strong breeze swept past them. She rocked back and forth, keeping her body warm as Lee dug his hands into his pockets. He bit his bottom lip as his eyes wandered briefly to the fallen leaves twirling in a tiny twister around the parking lot before looking to her.

"Sleeping any better?" he asked her.

"No," she answered bluntly. "I know we should be grateful for beds, but no, I'm not."

His brow furrowed in concern. "Drugstore?"

"Yeah."

He nodded, taking her single response as a request for a subject change. He was always good about that, picking up on those subtleties, and he'd change the subject, something rational, something that had her focusing more on the logic of things than the emotions of it.

"Lilly has me handing out the food," he said.

"Ugh," she groaned. "That can't be an easy job."

"It's not." He uncrossed his arms as soon as he'd folded them, apprehensive. "I won't be able to feed everyone," he added. "What should I do?"

"Well," Carley started, "if you wanted to get in good with Lilly, I'd make sure Larry gets some food, even though the guy can be a real dick sometimes."

He smiled at her jab.

"On the other hand, giving that food to Kenny and his family might make him remember you, if he decides to take off in that RV one day." His eyes wandered to where he knew Kenny fiddled with his rifle on the beat-up sofa.

"Granted, if you didn't want to play Survivor: Undead Apocalpyse edition and reinforce alliances," she added, "you can play with a more tactical strategy in mind. Feeding yourself, Kenny, and Mark could boost your resolve and your energy when going out for runs. On the downside, you'll be walking the proverbial moral tightrope by not feeding it to Kenny's family or Larry, given you'll probably feed Clementine before yourself."

"That's a thought."

"They'll think you petty, that 'I yelled at you so you got back at me by not feeding the people I care about' kind of thing, which, if you were a shallow kind of man, would have been a bad move by Lilly. Lucky for her, you're not shallow."

"What about you?" Lee said. "You need food too."

"We _all_ need food," she replied. "I can't tell you what to do, but whatever happens--" she smiled at him--"I know you'll be trying to do the right thing."  

He exhaled and he watched as he looked at the four food items in his hand. He didn't hesitate to offer Clementine food and then Duck, the boy, as usual oblivious to the gravity of their situation as he whined at yet again receiving cheese and crackers.

"I'll give you half my apple for half your cheese and crackers," Clementine said. "I know you're tired of it."

"Would ya?!" Duck exclaimed. "Oh boy. We should do this more often!"

"God," Carley said with a soft smile to Lee. "You know, I used to eat an apple every morning with some granola and six almonds, and that wasn't enough even then," she said.

"My mom used to give me granola bars for snack time,” Clementine said. “But I never liked the almond ones. I’d just pick them out.”

“Did your mom know about that?”

“I guess because she stopped giving them to me.” Clementine held up her half-apple. “You want some?" she offered.

Carley shook head. "You keep it. You and Duck."

"Ben," Lee said. "Be honest with me. Our group is struggling so don't pull anything funny here. When was the last time you ate?"

"Today," he said somberly. "A peach and some soup crackers."

Lee squinted as he exchanged glances with Carley. She shook her head.

"A peach and crackers, huh?" Lee said. "That sounds familiar."

"I'm not hungry," said Ben.

"All right." He turned to Carley and he gestured back at the food. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Don't be," she added. "It's the right thing."

"No, I mean..." He pulled out a packet of cheese and crackers. "You want something to eat?"

" _Me_?" she exclaimed. "How about you? You look like crap, Lee," she added. "When was the last time you ate?"

"I'm okay," he said, hand still outstretched.

"No, I want you to have this, okay?" She reached out and pushed his hand back. "In case you or Clementine start feeling weak."

His fingers curled around the snack-pack and he moved slowly, as if physical pain tore through him.

"Look," she said, "I know I said it didn't matter why you saved me instead of Doug, but--"

"You don't owe me anything, Carley."

She nodded and Lee turned and offered the food to Mark and then Larry. She held her arms as another breeze swept by.

"Are you guys going to kick us out?" Ben asked, his voice so quiet Carley barely heard her over the soft protest coming from her stomach. Ill-timing for hunger pangs.

"I don't know," she said. "I wouldn't. Dwindling resources or otherwise, we've gotta protect our own. We're all looking to survive this. But...." she sighed, "it's not up to me."


	16. Food for Thought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some food for thought: Chapters that feature in-game events are just going to be longer. Whoops.

**The Journalist**

**Chapter 16**

**Food for Thought**

"Shoot it!" he yelled. "Shoot it!"

The heel of her palm crashed into the magazine, her thumb flipped down the safety, and her index finger cradled the trigger. She pulled and the booming crack of a single shot resounded in the once cool air, now heavy with the potent scent of a smoky chemicals, leaving a dusty sensation on her tongue. A loud, foreign pitch screamed in her ears and Lee's heavy breathing sounded distant, as if she heard from underwater. She swallowed, forcing air pressure to sift through her ears as she crouched next to him, where Lee sat on the hard lot. The reanimated body of Mr. Parker lay in a pool of dark blood at Lee's side. Parker's head was blown open.

"You okay?" Carley asked Lee. 

"Yeah," he exhaled. "Thanks."

She watched as he took a few more breaths before he nodded and stood up with her.

"Why'd you bring him here in the first place, asshole?!" Larry screamed.

"Dad! Calm down," Lilly said, though she was ignored as her father continued to scream at Lee.

"You're gonna get us _all_ killed!"

"Why didn't you tell us he was bitten?!" Kenny demanded as Ben approached.

The teenager, startled, said, " _What?"_

"He was bitten and you didn't say a goddamn word!"

"But he wasn't bitten! I swear!"

"Well your 'not-bitten' friend here came back to life and tried to kill my wife!" Kenny shouted.

" _What?!_ " Ben exclaimed. Then his face contorted into confusion. His eyebrows knitted upwards as he glanced at everyone around him, all of their eyes on him. "Wait," he said. "Y'all... don't know?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Kenny ordered.

Ben swallowed. "It's... it's not the bite that does it," he said, "You come back no matter how you die. If you don't destroy the brain, that's just what happens. It's gonna happen to all of us."

"We're all infected?" Lee uttered. "Everyone?"

"I—I guess so," Ben shrugged. "I don't know... All I know is that I've seen people turn who I _know_ were never bitten."

 _God help us_ , Carley thought as she exhaled deeply. She ran a hand through her hair, matted, oily, definitely fading back into its original root color. She turned away from the group, her shoulders slumping as she looked beyond their improvised fencing.

"When I first saw it happen, we were all hiding out in a gym and everybody thought we were finally safe," Ben said."But one of the girls, Jenny Pitcher, I guess she couldn't take it."

There was wind approaching—a heavy wind, Carley heard. She squinted. No, not wind. It was the sound of friction, of tires rolling along the road. Carley poked her head out over the fence, peeking up to the winding road as a car approached. Ben continued speaking, something about Jenny Pitcher and some girls. 

"She took some pills—a—a lot of them," Ben said.

Carley's breath hitched in her throat. The car, an older sedan model, pulled to a smooth stop, just off the motel road. No squealing brake noises, everything clean and nothing to give them away. Carley tried to whistled, but her mouth remained too parched for even that.

"Someone went into the girls' room the next morning and God...."

Two men—older, probably in their 40s or 50s, white—stepped out of the vehicle.

Carley drew her gun.

" _Back off_!"she yelled.

She felt the group's eyes fall on her as her warning drew their's and the men's attention.

"Whoa, lady, relax!" the leading man said. He was a bigger guy, near Lee's height, but he definitely didn't look to be on the leaner end of struggling for food. Clad in a long sleeve striped polo, he sported a traditional short haircut, an even shorter forehead, high cheekbones and a strong jaw. In one hand, he held a red gas container and the other was raised in caution, perhaps even surrender. The man behind him, blue short sleeve polo, a sidepart haircut, weaker cheekbones, and a red nose that suggested he didn’t take to the sudden shift to cooler weather, held both hands up.

"Me and my brother," the lead man said, "we... we just wanna know if ya'll can help us out." He held up the gas tank. It moved lightly, suggesting the container was empty.

"I said ' _back off_!'" Carley repeated, taking one step closer to the fence.

"Carley," Lilly said and she felt her approach from behind. "Let's... see what they want," she whispered.

Carley squinted, but nonetheless kept her weapon raised.

"You're outnumbered here," Lee said, also approaching the fence. "Just turn around and go back."

"Okay, that's fine," Striped Polo said. "But you'd really be helping out a fellow survivor if you could part with some extra gas before we leave...?" He wiggled the container, as if to emphasize its emptiness.

"Why do you need gas?" Carley asked.

"Our place is protected by an electric fence," the other man said. "Generators provide the electricity."

"And our generators run on gas," Striped Polo added. "Look we own a dairy farm a few miles up the road, If ya'll be willing to lower your guns, we—we could talk about some kind of trade."

"How are ya'll doing on food?" Blue Polo asked. "W-w-we got plenty at the dairy."

In fitting display, Carley's stomach grumbled at the mention of food. And she wasn't the only one. She heard physiological plaudits come from those around her. Lee and Lilly, no doubt.

"Lee," Lilly said. "Why don't you and Mark check the place out, see if it's legit."

"I'm going with you," Carley said, turning around after a final once-over of the brothers. She tucked her Glock between the small of her back and the waistband of her jeans. "I got your back if anything seems fishy," she added.

Lilly stepped forward. She was on the verge of shaking her head when Lee caught her off.

"You're on watch today," Lee said sharply to Lilly. "And sending just me and Mark isn't going to do anything if we get split up. Three is a safer number."

"Then take four," Lilly added. "Everyone stays in pairs. More eyes for surveillance if anything seems off."

"I agree with the buddy system," Carley said.

"But that leaves only Kenny to come with," Lee said, "and I think he needs to cool down. He's been riled up since the horde and I think he needs a break."

"There isn't anyone else to send if I'm staying on watch," Lilly said.

"Why not Ben?" Carley whispered.

"The kid? _Really_?"

"His teacher just _died_ , Car," Lee said.

"You think he doesn't know that?" she retorted. "Add in the fact that Lilly sees him as another mouth to feed and you've got uncooperative teenage angst in a band letterman. Let him on this trip. It'll perk up his spirits and we can see what he can contribute."

Neither Lee nor Lilly shook their heads.

"I think it’s a good idea," Lee said.

"Fine," said Lilly.

"Then I'll ask him," Carley said.

"No," Lilly said, reaching for her before she could turn and call him. "You nominated him and you made your case. Don't ask him; _tell_ him. He needs to see we run things here."

"He's a _teenager._ He's not going to overthrow you."

Striped Polo's voice called over the fence. "So, uh," he called out. "What are ya'll thinking?"

Lee, Lilly, and Carley exchanged glances before Lee stepped forward. "You've got a deal," he announced. "We'll bring _some_ gas to your dairy. In exchange, you give us some food to bring back. We'll see how it goes from there."

 "Sounds fair," Striped Polo said, a content smile on his face. "A couple gallons should power one of our generators for a while."

\---

Ben was more than eager to come. Carley suspected he had his apprehensions about the motel, given the less-than-welcoming welcoming party he received earlier that day. As the six of them traipsed through the woods, Carley observed the teenager from behind. His walk was cautious, and when he spoke, it was softly, as if he were too afraid of walkers peeking out from behind the trees. It took a few upbeat questions from the brothers—Andy and Danny St. John—to get the boy rolling, and only when he looked behind him to catch Carley's reassuring smile did the teenager realize things would be okay. When Lee said he'd bring up the rear of the party with Carley, to ensure no walkers tailed them, Mark agreed to looking after Ben.

"I'll trust Ben with my back," Mark said, his rifle slung over his shoulders. "Give him some real responsibility while I take point." 

Carley and Lee travelled several yards behind Mark, Ben and the St. Johns, keeping enough of a gap to see if walkers would surface and, on the down low, scan the area to make sure they weren't walking into a trap. Granted, she also felt Lee needed to talk to her about something--and she did too, away from prying ears and with the welcome distraction of a new destination.

"It's nice to get away from that motel for a while," Carley said. "This Lilly/Kenny thing is starting to get ridiculous. Personally, I'd be happier if you started to take charge more."

Lee pursed his lips, her directness briefly startling him. He turned to her as he spoke. "You think they'd want me for a leader?" His voice was soft, quiet, and not entirely disbelieving, but certainly speculative.

"Sure." She nearly laughed. "Everybody looks up to you."

He bit down, his jaw clenching and his eyes staring straight ahead, peering out from under a heavy brow. "Well... not everyone thinks I'm so trustworthy."

She gauged their distance from the group before speaking. "Because of your past," she said, her voice near a whisper. "Does anyone else know?"

"Larry knows."

" _What_?" 

"Mmhm."

"Great," she exhaled. "That can't be easy." She heard him sigh as she asked, "How'd he find out?"

"Kept up with the news when it all went down. Confronted me the night we moved into the motel."

"Tch, no wonder he's such a tool to you. He's holding it over your head." She furrowed her brow. "That's not why fed you him, is it? Get him to keep quiet?"

"I fed him because you said to," Lee said. "Survivor, remember?"

Doing her best not to sound offended, Carley said, in a low whisper, "You didn't tell me he knew."

"I can handle him. And what would you have done had I told you?"

She shrugged, her eyes rolling as she made silent considerations. "Nothing I guess. I would think keeping tabs on who knew would be a way to keep yourself safe."

"And that's what I did."

"Wait, so you kept Larry knowing from me so we wouldn't talk about you behind your back?"

"I didn't know I could trust you then," he said and his lighthearted tone and the easygoing smile on his face begged for no hard feelings. "We'd just met. I had to trust you and I had to trust him. I didn't have a choice."

"And now?"

"Well, I am telling you this."

She chuckled at his posturing, but her smile faded. "Anyone else?" she asked, her voice now somber.

"….Clementine knows," he sighed. "She was there when we were talking in the drugstore and asked me about it." He bit down on his jaw again. "I couldn't lie to her."

"That's my fault," Carley said, biting her bottom lip. "I should've been more discrete. She's... brought it up a couple of times. When it's just me and her." Carley trusted Lee hadn't given Clementine a play-by-play of what actually happened, but as the gap between their party and the St. Johns grew, she figured maybe she could ask....

"What exactly _did_ happen with the senator?" Carley asked.

"You know what happened," he evaded.

"I only know what the press was told. I don't know your story," she said gently.

He trudged forward. "It was an accident," he finally said. "I mean... I pretty much knew about the affair but...." His voice trailed off, never to complete the sentence as he shook his head. "It doesn't matter." He sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if I should talk to the group about it," he said.

"You don't have to," Carley decided, having received his hint to change subjects. "Whatever happened before things went to hell doesn't matter anymore."

His eyes hardened, troubled and she saw his brow crease in concern. "Not sure everyone would see it that way."

"Maybe you're right," she said. "But listen, over the years, I've reported on some pretty messed up shit. I've seen situations like yours a hundred times. It doesn't have to make you a bad man. And you're not a bad man," she added.

He smiled. "I—uh—really appreciate that."

"Thank God Lee showed up when he did," she heard Mark tell the others. "Right Lee?"

"Yeah, why don't you tell us a little more about yourself, Lee?" asked Andy.

"Where're ya from?" asked Danny.

Lee picked up his pace, moving to stand between the St. John brothers. "I... grew up in Macon," Lee said.

Carley squinted. Not the best public relations move he could have made, but if the St. John brothers didn't have a particular astute memory for news headlines, it could work in their favor.

"Right here in the heart of Georgia," Andy said. "That’s what I like to hear."

 _Good_ , Carley thought. Maybe being a Macon native earned them some brownie points.

"Motor inn's my home now though," Lee said. "Macon hasn't been the same since all this. Naturally."

"Ya'll do seem pretty settled in at the motor inn over there," Andy said. "Who's running things over there?"

Lee didn't say anything. And for the moment, she thought he had said Lilly's name or maybe even Kenny's if Lilly had pissed him off enough that day. Maybe she had missed it, perhaps in the passing breeze or in the rustle of the leaves. But when he spoke, she heard him speak clear enough.

"I am," he said. "You got any questions, you come to me," he said.

Carley felt her lips turn up in an appreciative smile.

"But we do work as a group," Lee said. "All of us looking out for each other."

"I hear that," Andy said. "There are so many dumbasses out there fighting each other these days," he chuckled. "It's just stupid."

"How many people you got over there anyway?" asked Danny.

Carley chewed on the inside of her cheek. If telekinesis was an ability she could share with Lee, one not too supernaturally farfetched these days, she begged Lee not to answer that question truthfully.

"Well," Lee said. "The kid here is our newest arrival, but we're all looking forward to some food. We really need it."

"Well, here's to helping each other out!" Andy smiled. "We'd love to get ya'll all out to the dairy. Like I said, we've got plenty of food, and quite frankly, we could always use an extra helping hand."

"In the summers," started Ben, sounding eager to contribute, "I used to help out on a goat farm."

"Yeah, that's great," Danny said. "Everything helps."

"Momma's been around the dairy for as long as I remember," Andy began, "but lately it's been getting kinda--"

"You think you're gonna cut me out of this?!" another voice yelled out.

Carley's eyes darted around the group, the voice was far away, unfamiliar, angry, and rough. From the looks of everyone else in the group, no one had spoken, and everyone was confused. Andy swore.

"Shit!" he whispered urgently, quickly sinking into a crouch. "Get down!"

They crouched closer, steadily toward the sound of voices. Carley feared they would come too close to whoever spoke, but a sudden drop in the terrain toward what may have been a dried-up riverbed gave them plenty of cover as they overlooked two men arguing, both of them in fall apparel and, most significantly, wearing masks to hide their faces. 

Carley and Mark each exchanged glances and nodded; he unshouldered his rifle and pointed it ahead. She drew her pistol, but kept it close, not yet ready to fire. 

"No one is trying to cut you out of anything," one of the voices said.

"You and Gary are always—"

"Fucking bandits," Danny whispered. 

"Who?" Lee asked.

"Those look like the people who raided my camp," Ben whispered.

"Calm down!" one of the bandits said. "Your paranoia is pissing everyone off!"

"Who are they?" Lee whispered back.

"Shh," Andy said. "Fucking assholees who is who they are."

"Fuck you! You knew we were hungry!" the other bandit yelled. "And you guys were keeping it all for yourself!"

"There's only two of them," Carley observed aloud. 

"Oh no," said Andy. "There's a lot more of 'em."

"We ate it all!" one of the bandits taunted. "What are you gonna fucking do about it?!"

"Don't worry," Andy said. "Danny and I have ya covered if something happens, but let's just wait this out and hope they move on." 

"Fuck you!" the first bandit shouted, and he kicked the second one in the gut, sending stuttering back, as the first bandit fired his shotgun point blank. 

Carley gasped, and it seemed so did everyone else as the bandit continued firing at the dead body. Carley's breathing caught in her throat and she leaned further out from her spot behind the tree, ready to fire if needed, but a startling hand on her shoulder—Lee's—told her to wait. Ahead of her, she saw Mark steady his breathing as he leveled his rifle, the scope about an inch from his eye, separated by his glasses. He looked tempted to stand for a stable positioning, but the need to maintain cover took priority over taking out the militant. 

The bandit continued firing his shotgun at the corpse of what Carley thought was a colleague. 

"Jesus," she said. 

After another blast, the bandit walked away, saying, "Asshole!" as he left.

Andy shook his head. "The world out here has gone to shit," he said.

No one could dispute that. 


	17. "Take this" | Mark 14:22-24

**The Journalist**

**Chapter 17**

**"Take this" | Mark 14:22-24**

"Come on. Let's get to the dairy where it's safe," Andy said.

They continued their walk, diverging along several marked trails which pointed general directions to the dairy farm. The native trees, now various fiery colors of reds, oranges and yellows with the onset of the autumn season, dwindled in frequency as they progressed along the trails. A clearing opened up just ahead and as they crossed the obvious threshold, where the soft dirt beneath her soles turned into gravel road, Andy let out an inviting cheer of welcome.

"Here it is!" he said. "The St. John family dairy! Ya'll can see how we've kept this place so safe."

The buzzing of the electric fences—barbed wire laced with red, electrical wire—hummed through the otherwise calm and quiet air. Ahead, Carley saw a quaint sign bearing the words 'St. John Family Dairy,' painted on pale wood. Beyond that, surrounded also by barbed wire fences, were what looked to be crops. Corn, actually. And there seemed to be at least half an acre's worth of what may as well be considered edible gold.

"The fence keeps them out?" Mark asked.

"You betcha," said Andy. "They fry like bugs in a zapper. We're pushing 4000 volts through that thing, with generators and amps."

"I'm going to assume that’s a lot," Carley said.

"'A lot' is an understatement," Danny answered. "It only takes about a tenth of an amp to kill most people."

"...Good to know," she said.

"Ever have any accidents?" Lee asked as the group stopped at the front gate, beyond which stood a ridiculously picturesque white house atop a green hill.

"Nah," Danny said.

"It's safer here than out there," Andy supplemented.

Carley continued to marvel at the land around her, finding credence in Andy's words. The open space, the crisp air, the lack of a publicly accessible roadway, even the birds chirping along merrily gave her good vibes. She was grateful the St. John brothers didn't take her gun-toting adversely.

"This place looks untouched," she said. "You'd never know the rest of the world is in ruins."

"It's worth protecting," Andy said. "Hence all the juice."

Carley saw a woman exit the house on the hill. She was older than the brothers—their mother, Carley guessed—and her hair a fiery red, red enough to rival the autumn trees that surrounded the farm.

"I thought I saw ya'll with company comin' down the drive," the woman said in a heavy southern accent.

"Guys," said Andy, "This is our mama."

"I'm Brenda St. John and welcome to the St. John Dairy," she said.

 _Southern hospitality epitomized_ , Carley thought as she nodded her head.

"This here's Lee," Andy introduced, gesturing. "He's from Macon."

"Ooh, a couple of our old farm hands were from Macon. They grow 'em good there."

"Aren't we still in Macon?" Carley whispered.

"We're just outside the city limits," Lee whispered back.

"They've got a few more friends staying at the old motel," Danny added.

"Oh my goodness, that place is pretty vulnerable," Brenda said. "Have you got someone with survival experience to lead your group?"

 "We all work together," Lee answered. "Plus we've got plenty of people with military experience."

Carley nodded. Good. A vague response that showed the group wouldn't be tromped over. No hard numbers to reveal how capable they were. Three of them had formal military training, plus Carley as an embed and Kenny who revealed he worked with the Citizens Police Academy. That was easily half the group.

"Well, that's good to hear," Brenda said. "That motel ain't the safest place. But now that ya'll are here, we'll make sure that you're safe and comfortable."

"Does that offer apply to the rest of us?" Lee asked.

"We're all incredibly hungry," Carley added.

"Then it's a good thing I've brought these," Brenda lifted up the picnic basket she carried. "These are for ya'll. Baked fresh this morning!"

Inside the basket were at least a dozen biscuits. The wind picked up and Carley was assaulted with the biscuits' warm scent. Her stomach grumbled once at the fresh aroma and she momentarily entertained nostalgic memories of spending late nights at cafes working on stories and early mornings at relatives' houses baking for fundraisers and school bake sales.

"Amazing," she gasped, licking her lips at the prospect of fresh food.

"Can't get stuff like that anymore, not without a cow for milk and butter, that's for sure," Andy said.

"That's right," said Brenda. "Hopefully Maybelle will make it through this bout of whatever she's got and be with us for a good-long while."

"Your cow is sick?" Lee asked. "What's she—?"

"We have a vet!" Mark jumped in. "We could bring her here. We could help you folks out."

"A vet?! Oh my! Our prayers have been answered!" Brenda said.

"Maybe our whole group could come... er, for the day!" Mark proposed eagerly.

Carley turned and caught Lee's apprehensive look.

"Well, how about this: ya'll go get your veterinary friend, and I prepare some dinner?" Brenda said. "A big feast for all you hungry souls." She turned to her sons. "It'll be nice to have some folks to help out around here again. Danny, why don't you come help me out in the kitchen?"

As Brenda and Danny retreated back to the house, Carley glanced at Lee, Mark and Andy.

"Why don't I head back with the food and round up everyone for the trip over here?" she asked.

"You might wanna take someone with you," Andy said. "Remember, those roads can be dangerous."

"I can handle myself," she said determinedly.

"Hey now, I didn't mean nothing by it," Andy said, hands raised again. "My mama can shoot a gun just as fine as any lady, but I'd no sooner send her off the farm by herself without either Danny or me."

Carley squinted, not sure how that helped his case.

"Here," Mark said, handing her his rifle. "Take this. Why don't you go ahead and take along Ben anyways?"

She settled, taking the rifle. "All right. Take care of yourself, Lee," she added, turning to him. "See you in a while."

As she and Ben walked away, the latter quietly agreeing to go along with her, she heard Lee say to Mark, his tone serious , "She's already armed, you know."

"Figured she could teach the kid to shoot on their way back," Mark said. "Come to think of it, I've never seen her actually shoot from range. Is she really as good as everyone says?"

"Uncannily. I've never seen her miss."

"She one of the military ones?" she heard Andy ask.

"...Something like that," Lee said.

"Gosh, you guys sure like talking in circles. But I get it, we haven't really established this whole trust thing. Tell ya what, Mark, Lee, why don't ya'll take a look around. Once ya get settled in...."

Andy's voice faded away as Carley and Ben walked further away from the farm. Eventually, they turned away from the paved road and into the woods, back toward the easy-to-follow trail. 

"Were you military?" Ben asked as they hiked.

Carley shook her head. "No. Embedded journalist."

"Whoa, so that means you went to like war zones and checked in with news stations and stuff during battles, right?"

"Yeah."

"That sounds pretty cool."

"It was an experience."

Carley reached into the basket and pulled out a biscuit. "Have a biscuit, Ben."

"Oh, yeah, sure," he said. Ben took the biscuit and sunk his teeth in. His face relaxed, looking momentarily blissfully as he chewed. "Gahd, thot'sch d'luschus," he said through his full mouth. "You'shd try shum."

She didn't need telling twice. When her teeth sunk into the warm biscuit, she immediately felt at ease. The baked good melted in her mouth, its buttery goodness sticking to the roof of mouth. When she swallowed, she felt a wonderful feeling of satisfaction course through her.

"They're nice people," Carley said. "And here I was thinking we were seeing the worst of humanity."

After Ben swallowed, she felt an immediate change in his mood. His brow was heavy and he glanced at the remaining piece of biscuit in his hand.

"I don't know," he said, stopping suddenly and looking over his shoulder. "Maybe too much has happened for me to really trust other groups—not that I have a choice now— but there's something _off_ about them."

\---

Ben was an all right kid. On their way back to the camp, Carley decided they take the detour to Ben's old camp and gather his supplies. It was as he said it—cans of soup and a jar of applesauce, plus a couple blankets and some backpacks. Ben said they only owned two weapons: a crowbar picked up from a convenience store in town and a branch that had been sharpened into a spear.

Ben was quiet thereafter. Once they reached the motel, he handed the supply pack to Carley before settling down by the pallet the kids used as a coloring table.

"Where's Lee and Mark?" Lilly asked, her tone laced with suspicion.

"Back at the farm. Here—" she handed Lilly the pack and Kenny, as he arrived, the basket of bread rolls. "The St. Johns made an offer," Carley continued. "They're willing to host a feast for us."

" _A feast?!"_ Duck said, having ran up to gobble down a bread roll. " _Wow!_ "

"What's the catch?" Lilly asked skeptically.

"They have a sick cow and they've got food. We've got a vet and we need food," Carley said. "We figured we could help each other out."

Lilly squinted.

"It's not a binding contract," Carley added. "Lee figured we could see how things go from there. If anything, the biscuits are proof they have food." She turned to the rest of the group as Katjaa, Clementine and Larry gathered. "Everyone's invited to go."

"And we leave the motel unguarded?" Larry asked. "Butter my biscuits and call that a fucking light in the oven."

"I'll stay," Carley said without hesitation. "Ben and I ate some bread on our way back. We can handle the motel. Trail's easy to read and I can draw out a map if you decide to go."

"This isn't a question of _if_ we're doing it," Kenny started, "because my family and I, we're going."

Lilly's shoulders slumped and when she spoke, Carley was glad to hear her voice was gentle. "I want this to be a good thing," she slowly admitted. "I'm wary is all."

"You have a right to be," Carley said. "But everyone's hungry, and these people, they could help us."

Lilly turned to look at everyone in the group. "Fine," she said, and she smiled saying it. "All right. We'll go."

Larry reached into the basket of bread rolls Kenny held. He pulled one out and tore it in half. "Thanks," he said to Kenny. 

\---

She pulled out her pocket watch. She didn't need to check the time to know Lee and the rest of the group had been gone too long. Though the sun had long since been masked by grey, ominous clouds rolling in from the west, ushering in a pseudo-night well before sunset, the measure of time since she last saw anyone besides Ben dragged.

Not that she didn't enjoy Ben's company. When he forgot about having experienced two (more) friends die, he was the epitome of every teenager Carley knew. He shared funny stories about high school and band and classes. He talked about his family and his dog back home in Stone Mountain. They even played checkers as a way to pass the time and had a knack for card tricks. He was an average kid. He wanted to be liked, but he needed to live up to what it meant to be liked. When he sat on watch, he looked pensive. She knew it was a shock for him, she could see, going from interacting with peers on the daily in the monotony of a public school setting, to having to constantly flee and adopt survival skills.

She taught him what she could. He knew how to shoot, but keeping watch was something else. Learning to distinguish from the sounds of natural wildlife to walkers and humans would be a skill he learned through practice.

"But most times," Carley said, "you won't need to use the gun. It's better if you don't. Screwdriver here, axe there. Take your pick when they get to the fence."

Still, even with all the time they passed, the group wasn't back.

Lee wouldn't have left them waiting so long without sending word. He wouldn't.

She felt a drop of water splash onto her cheek. The dark clouds were more than just omens.

"Ben," she called out as she peered over the edge of the RV. The teenager lay on the couch beneath the sunshade, holding Clementine's cat drawing—at least Carley thought it was cat anyways.

"Yeah?" Ben asked.

"Let's you and me take a walk."

 


	18. Apocalypse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm a disaster at updating on AO3. Expect a sudden burst of some 7-8 chapters in the span of like 20 minutes if any of you guys on here keep up with this. And sorry, sorry, sorry!!! for the super delay for those of you who do keep up with this exclusively on AO3 (while on FFN it's been sitting at an angry ch. 24 for 8 months now lol). Onwards! 
> 
> Setting: Right after the last chapter.
> 
> Song of the chapter and inspiration for the chapter title: "Apocalypse" by Bear McCreary ft. Raya Yarbrough. Bonus points if you read this and listen to the song with RainyCafe and RainyMood for ambience.

 

**The Journalist**

**Chapter 18**

**Apocalypse**

Lightning and thunder kept her on edge. Rain kept her cold and alert. It always did. The wet of her clothes stuck to her skin in numbing wariness, drenched and succumbing to the poor luck they shared. As she picked her way through the crops, Ben's footsteps sloshing in the mud behind her, she felt her skin tingle as lightning illuminated the field, blinding her briefly before forcing her to adapt to sudden night vision. Still, the darkness from the rolling clouds kept her vigilant in looking for any telltale sign of where Lee and the rest of them were, never mind her body feeling inauspiciously sluggish.

She saw movement ahead of her, perhaps a corn crop swaying in the intensifying wind. Opportunely-timed lightning revealed the decaying silhouette however to be a walker haphazardly rambling along the crops. Carley raised the shovel she'd found earlier. Her fingers felt numb, but she squeezed the shovel's handle hard as she raised then slammed the tool over the walker's head. It collapsed with a satisfying thud, the sound easily masked by thunder.

"Carley!"

"Lee?" she called out, standing from her crouched position

That was Lee's voice, hushed but loud enough to hear him over the downpour. She squinted, peering past the crops, and saw Lee crouched just on the other side of barbed wire fence, beneath the barn awning.

"Ow!" Ben yelped from behind her. She shushed him.

"Is everyone okay?" she called out, trying to keep her voice loud enough to be heard of the rain, but low enough to maintain stealth. "You guys have been gone _way_ too long," she said.

"They attacked us!" Lee called back.

"I knew it," Ben said to her. "I told you we couldn't trust them."

"Shit," Carley said. "How many of them are there?"

"Two left," Lee said.

"Where?"

"Don't know. Larry's dead! They chopped off Mark's legs and tried to feed them to us."

" _What_?" Carley shook her head. There was _no way_ Lee had just said that. Larry was  _dead_? And Mark...  _What the hell was going on?_

"They're cannibals!" Lee said.

Carley felt unease rise in her throat and the fluids in her stomach shift. She swallowed.

"Shit, is everyone else okay?" she asked.

"They've still got Duck and Katjaa in the house," Lee said, gesturing to the house atop the hill. "And I don't know where the fuck Kenny is."

"All right," Carley decided. "We're coming in to help."

"The main gate is too dangerous," he said, shaking his head. "Go around the fence and see if there's a back way in." He gestured beyond the barn. "I'll keep looking for Kenny," Lee said. "You have a weapon?"

She smirked, as if he didn't already know. "I don't leave home with it," she said. She turned to Ben. "Ben, stick close, and Lee, _be careful_."

Abandoning their stealthy approach, she and Ben winded quickly out of the corn crop and followed the electric fence. Her heart racing, Carley scanned the fences quickly, looking for anything that could resemble a gate they could pass through.

"There!" Ben called out, pointing ahead of them. "By the tractor! There's a gate over there."

"Good," Carley said. "Come on, let's go."

Half-running and half-crouching, the two of them crossed the threshold into the property. Where Lee went or where to start looking for Kenny, Carley had no idea. She figured meeting up with Lee at the house would be a smart place to start, but as Carley and Ben moved quickly toward the house, voices, unmistakably loud and heavily southern, ripped through thunderous air.

A single gunshot burst through the air.

"Shit!" She and Ben both flinched and swore and Carley quickly drew her Glock. They quickened their pace, winding around the side of the house, careful to maintain their footing atop the slippery hill.

Finally, Carley saw the familiar figures of her group, merely yards away. Her scowl deepened when she saw Andy St. John holding Duck by the back of his shirt, arm's length away and a rifle pointed at the back of the boy's head. Carley bit down-"Fuck," she muttered, as she saw Lee approach him, his palms open wide in caution. Kenny, on the other hand, was sprawled on the ground, Katjaa knelt down next to him.

She quickly chambered a round into her Glock and raised the weapon, aiming down her sights. Accounting for rain and wind, this would be a clean shot. Andy wasn't making any rash movements and Duck was significantly shorter than Andy. As long as Lee kept him calm, Carley could take him out with a clean, no problem.

Thunder and lightning struck.

Andy moved slightly, nothing she couldn't accommodate for. His motions were angry, yet calculated and fluid in their intention. He played tactically rational and morally corrupt as he held a boy hostage from arm's length, a manmade weapon held tightly in his hands as he spewed frustrated expressions from his tongue in desperate defense.

Human though he may be, this man was a monster.

Just not the kind of monster Carley was used to seeing—not of late, at least.

She pulled the trigger.

She missed.

Barely.

The shot grazed Andy's ear and he stumbled backwards. In the split second of confusion, Duck, free, quickly ran away, and Lee met Carley's eye as he swiveled to see the source of the shot before sprinting forward, charging at Andy. Andy fired another shot, missed—Ben shivered, the bullet just grazing past him—and Andy brought the rifle up between himself and Lee. A pushing struggle ensued for control of the rifle and Lee and Andy toppled down the hill, breaking the fence.

"Carley!" Katjaa yelled. "Help me with Kenny, _please_!"

Carley and Ben hustled down the hill and toward Katjaa, where she knelt over Kenny. Blood spilled from the side of his abdomen and Carley pulled a cloth from her back pocket–courtesy of the St. John's picnic basket—to staunch the bleeding.

"You'll be fine, you'll be fine," Katjaa frantically chanted.

"Fuck," Kenny groaned. "It... it hurts like a bitch."

"Ben," Carley said, turning to him. "Stay here. Press like this, _hard._ I need to check on Lee."

Katjaa nodded. "Go. Go!"

But as Carley turned to run down the hill and help Lee, she heard another gunshot rip through the air. Andy fell backwards. Lilly, with Clementine standing behind her, stood at the entrance to the barn, a rifle in her hands.

Carley held her breath, watching as Lee struggled to stand from where he once lay collapsed on the muddy ground. His movements were woozy, but once he was up, he marched toward Andy with a renewed fury, determination fueling his taught movements. He stood over Andy's figure and straddled him, a knee on either side, pinning down his arms.

Lee raised a fist. He drove it into Andy's face.

Again. And again. And again.

Carley moved forward, nearly oblivious the rest of the group had joined her to watch the Lee's all but guaranteed victorious struggle. She missed Kenny forcing himself onto his feet, holding onto his side with his family surrounding him, and Carley paid no attention to Lilly's indignant expression and how she craved for vengeance, and how that she would only realize that cold dish through Lee's furious action. And Carley missed Clementine wrapping her fingers around Carley's cold, shivering hand.

She missed reading the group, reading their reactions and logging them for observational record. She missed who stood horrified by Lee's actions and who stood mollified. She just watched him strike tirelessly at the now defenseless man. Hard, cold, wet skin and bone striking tired, tender skin and bone, the strikes thumping repeatedly like a fading heartbeat, occasionally spurring to life with sharp cracks—bone striking against bone, fragments chipping away.

He was beaten now. Andy couldn't win. Lee wouldn't let him win. And for all she knew, Andy could be dead already.

Carley stepped forward and felt what little warmth Clementine shared with her in her hands slip away. She could count the punches Lee dished out with the long steps she walked to get to him, but she didn't want to. She didn't need to know how much he hit him, or how hard he struck him. Just the sound of Lee's grunts and the absence of Andy's was enough for her to hear.

"Lee, that's enough," she said.

Her voice was weak, but Lee cringed all the same. His punches ceased suddenly, but weakly and he remained straddled over Andy. His shoulders heaved up and down and she could hear his heavy breathing despite the thunderous rain. Finally, he stood up, pulling himself off of Andy, and backed away, his footing shaky.

"He's had enough," she said, stronger now. She closed her eyes, desperate to look away from him, and turned away.

She wouldn't baby Lee. He could make his own decisions, she knew that, but this was far from rational thought. This had degenerated into something far too primal to involve conscious decision-making.

"Is that all you got, Lee?" she heard Andy cough. "You ain't shit!"

Lee breathed heavily, and he turned to face him. "It's _over_!" he yelled.

"Fuck you!" Andy shouted back, attempting to get up. "As soon as Dan and Mama get out here, you're—you're all fucked!"

"They're not coming," Lee said.

Andy's expression faltered. "What do you mean?" he panted. "Lee? What the fuck do you mean?"

Lee turned away. Andy crawled forward, slowly standing.

"Don't you _dare_ walk away from me, Lee!" he shouted, pointing.

But Lee kept walking, walking back toward them, back toward their group.

Andy collapsed to his knees, the mud sickeningly sloshing. "Get back here and finish this, Lee!" he demanded.

And Lee stopped. Halfway between Andy the rest of their group, he stopped walking. He turned, and glanced over his shoulder. Carley felt her heart stop. _He_ _wouldn_ 't, she told herself. _He_ _would_ n' _t go back._ She felt her hand meeting with Clementine's, her small fingers wrapping around her palm tight; Carley squeezed back in return. _He wouldn't do it_.

He didn't. He shook his head and continued walking back toward them.

Carley released a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. Clementine's hand squeezed hers even harder.

"Get back here and fight me like a man, Lee!" Andy screamed.

Lee was determined to walk forward. His footsteps hard and heavy on the dirt path now puddled with rainwater. His pace all but a jog, quick and fleeting—fleeing—looking back only once, not to Andy but down toward Clementine as he passed her and Carley, not stopping his trudge, as he said, "Let's go." His voice was so quiet, yet so commanding, it pained Carley to hear it, as if her heart had dropped into her stomach. Clementine jogged quickly past her, rushing to catch up with Lee, and they all followed in suit.

Though the collective ambiance of the group radiated tragedy, no one marched with a pace heavier than he did.

Whatever delusions of security they had embraced had shattered. Man struggling against nature held no water against conflicts between man and man's self. And it was those kind of catastrophes that lead to this apocalypse.

Walkers were just a catalyst, Carley realized. And though walker—their jargon for those who lusted after blood—was easily understood by their group to refer to those inhuman monsters, Carley knew there was a different kind of monster they needed to be wary of.

Walkers and humans, they weren't mutually exclusive.


	19. Count Your Blessings

 

**The Journalist**

**Chapter 19**

**Count Your Blessings**

"It was with his things but I thought you could give it to him," Katjaa told her.

She nodded, taking the item and stashing it in her back pocket. She stared over her shoulder where Lee strode far ahead of the group. Alone.

He hiked faster than everyone else, not by a racer's pace or in obvious stride, but just a little hastier than common sense measure, enough to show an evident gap between he and the rest of them. Even Clementine—who suddenly had her hat back, Carley realized, it soaked and pressing soggily to her matted hair—lagged behind, toward the rear, not astride Lee, and her hand certainly not in his as Carley had grown accustomed to seeing. If that wasn't a sign that Lee was lost in his own thoughts, then she didn't know what was. And the last thing he needed was to brood.

She lengthened her stride to catch up to him. The dry dirt didn't slosh beneath her athletic shoes; the storm had yet to reach this part of the woods.

"Hey, Lee," she began, still walking just behind him. It occurred to her she hadn't the foggiest idea of what to say. _I'm sorry? How are you?_   _You did the right thing? The wrong thing?_  What could she possibly contributed that he didn't already know, that he wasn't already thinking about? Her scramble for some kind of consideration, for some kind of verbal reassurance faltered, and she instead chose-- instead of focusing on him-- to detract that focus away. _Get him to think of something else_. 

"I'd say I'm sorry for leaving the motel unattended," she started, "but... you know."

He continued to trudge forward, his shoulders hunched determinedly. His head was bent over, almost sullen, but he turned just enough to suggest he was speaking to her while still avoiding eye contact.

"I'm glad you showed up when you did," he said. "If you hadn't taken that shot at Andy, we might not have gotten out of there."

She missed that shot; she lamented missing, but where it failed, it knew it served enough, served a secondary purpose: distracting Andy enough for Lee to tackle him. It ignited the fight.

There wouldn't have been a fight if she hadn't missed.

She shook her head. The end result was what mattered. She wouldn't blame herself for what happened in the past—she'd told Lee this countless times—and she needed to believe it just as much.

"Were they really killing people...? For food?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said. "They were."

"Ugh, that is sick." A shiver coursed through her body and disgust caught in her throat. "God... just... _ugh._ Clementine," she added, "she doesn't know right?"

He turned, finally, looking over his shoulder and she finally caught the look in his eyes. He wasn't angry, furious or even despondent and full of self-pity. His eyes were wide in fear and his brow raised in concern. Hope had been stolen from him, she saw. And he measured that hope not in the capabilities of himself, but in the trust of others. This was the look of a man, however well he hid it in so brief a glance, who didn't know what tomorrow would bring them.

"She's not stupid, Carley," he said.

She exhaled and reached into her back pocket, gesturing for Lee to stop. "Katjaa managed to grab this while she was in the house. She said it was with your stuff."

She pulled the video recorder out of her pocket as Lee turned and stopped in front of her.

"Yeah," he said, his eyes downcast. "I found it while I was looking for the people who shot Mark."

"For the people who shot Mark? The St. John's...?"

"No..." He shook his head. "While we were patrolling the perimeter fence, we were ambushed by those bandits. Mark was shot and... he had to be laid up in bed. That's when we got separated and..." He closed his eyes. Carley suddenly regretted peering deeply into what happened. And Lee, with no protest from Carley, changed the subject.

"Do you want it?" he asked, gesturing at the recorder.

It was small, shiny and easily concealable. Its functions were straightforward with basic record, stop and playback functions. Batteries were dead _—Hmph, batteries_ , she thought—but it wasn't too much in the realm of "shit recording equipment." It would have been handy to have when this all started, to document the outbreak of some off-the-wall disease and what she thought would be temporal chaos, but now, three months in, documenting for the sake of documenting, for keeping record for future generations, didn't seem so high a priority now. And as much as looking out for the long run and memorializing current events appealed to her, more immediate, more _humane_ concerns held a greater priority.

 _"_ Why don't you keep it?" she said. "Sometimes it helps to have something you can document your thoughts on."

He nodded, and she saw his lips turn up in gratitude.

When she looked up and met his eyes again, she saw he was staring past her, his gaze pensive.

"Go on ahead," he said.

She looked over her shoulder. Kenny and Katjaa stood in his immediate line of sight. She nodded and her hand briefly brushed onto the crook of his elbow as he stepped around her.

She took only a handful of steps forward before she stopped again. She looked around the woods, a noise, soft and pitched, repetitively rang on and off. The sound was manmade and easily distinguishable against the soft nighttime hum of wild nature piercing the air.

"Hey, Dad," Duck cautioned. "What's that noise?"

"Sounds like a car," Kenny said.

"Oh God," said Ben. "Not more strangers."

"Kenny," Lee said, and he gestured in the direction of the noise, signaling the two of them check it out. The rest of them would wait until either of them gave an all clear.

It wasn't long before Kenny, in a tone of mirthful surprise exclaimed, "Oh crap! Baby, you gotta see this! There's a shitload of food and supplies back here."

The rest of the group moved quickly toward the clearing where a station wagon, headlights on, doors open, stood parked. From the lights on inside the vehicle, Carley could see the station wagon was stocked full of boxes of supplies. For a moment, Carley was briefly reminded of Mark, of how he drove into the motel parking lot, his SUV loaded with supplies from the Robins AFB's commissary. And it hit her that Mark was no longer with them. That Team Solo was no longer an alliance name they joked about. That, along with months of rations he'd supplied upon his rival, there was nothing to remember him by. He was as temporary as any of their consumables. 

"This food could save all of us," Katjaa suddenly rejoiced, breaking Carley's reverie. 

"Not _all_ of us," Lilly said.

Kenny sighed and Carley could hear the exhaustion and frustration emanating from him.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek, stealing glances between Lilly and Kenny. Something happened back there at the farm between those two, and she was confident it had something to do with Larry's death. She would find out sooner or later.

"Look," Ben said as he approached the car. "We don't know if these people are dead."

"If they come back, then we're just monsters who came out of the woods and ruined their lives," Lilly said.

"This stuff isn't ours," Clementine added.

"Dad," said Duck, "who's car is it?"

"Don't worry about that, Duck," Kenny replied. "It's ours now."

"It's abandoned, Ducky," Katjaa added. "Don't worry."

"What if it's not?" Clem protested. "What if it's not abandoned? What if it _is_ someone's?"

Lee stepped forward. "You're right," he said. "This stuff doesn't belong to us."

"What?" Kenny exclaimed. "Did you get some meal back there the rest of us missed out on? We _have_ to take this stuff."

"Clementine and I don't want any part of this," Lee said.

"We're starving!" Kenny protested. He glanced around at the rest of the group. "I know this isn't the most kosher thing to do, but look at all of this." He gestured at the boxes inside the vehicle.

"Think about it, Lee," Lilly added. "Are you willing to stay hungry and take the risk of actually _starving to death_ because this abandoned stuff doesn't belong to you? There are _weeks_ ' worth of food and supplies in here! I'm not gonna pass that up on the off chance that whoever owns this shit is coming back."

"It's not ours," Lee emphasized.

"Suit yourself," Kenny said. "The rest of us—" he glanced over his shoulder at the station wagon—"are taking this stuff." He held out a bloodied hand, as if waiting for something from Lee.

Lee, grudgingly, removed car keys from his back pocket and tossed them to Kenny, who gladly unlocked the trunk of the car.

"Okay," he said with the fervor of a child on Christmas morning, "what have we got in here?"

Carley closed her eyes and exhaled. When she finally opened them, she resolved to something she knew she would not have done under other circumstances. She never believed in the old platitude "desperate times, desperate measures," even when times were bleakest for her. She used to think the phrase was a poor excuse for irrational behavior. But this, this was on a completely different level of desperate and on a different level of rational. Rational, to save their lives and preserve the group? Yes. Morally sound? No. Arguably no.

And so she argued that someone had to take the food. She would feel like shit now, and she already felt like shit as she walked past Lee to get to the trunk, but she knew after a full meal, it would all have been worth it.

"See if there's any water," Carley called out.

"Yeah, I've got some in this box," Ben said.

"Lee," Katjaa said. "There's a hoodie in here. Could probably fit Clementine."

"She's good. Thanks," he replied back.

Lee wouldn't have refused if Clementine hadn't said otherwise.

"Whatever, man," Kenny said. "It's gonna get cold out eventually."

As Ben passed her by, box in hand, she caught the glint of a pack of batteries. She told Ben to hold up, pocketed the batteries, and moved toward Lee.

"Hey," she said. "There were some batteries in one of those boxes. I thought they might work in your camcorder."

When he turned to her, she was relieved to find he didn't look the least bit resentful she decided to partake in the looting. Clem, too, even.

"Here," Carley said, pulling the batteries from her back pocket and recalling an earlier conversation the girl shared with Lee. "You can have some, too. For your walkie-talkie."

"Batteries, huh?" Lee said. "Think you can handle those?"

"You're not gonna let me live that down, are you?" she said as Lee handed her the recorder. She caught him smiling, amused, as she made a show of properly inserting the batteries. Positives with the positives; negatives with the negatives.

She clicked on the power button and hit playback.

"Oh, God," she said. She increased the playback speed and the images the recorder presented passed in accelerated speed as she was quick to devour and recognize telltale images. Whoever had this diary last, she didn't know, but what she kept on it was disconcerting.

"Lee," she said. "You're gonna want to see this."

He leaned closer toward her and they shared the small screen of the recorder. The woman on screen was no one Carley recognized, but as the feed progressed, the image of their motel, _of their group—_ all of them—panned into focus. And the most disturbing part, as Carley switched to the most recent entry, was that that entry was recorded today.

" _Where's your hat?_ " Lee's voice said through the recorder.

" _I don't know_ ," came Clementine voice. " _Can you help me find it?_ "

It dawned upon each of them that they were being watch. That the motel was being watched and Carley had left it unguarded. The one holding the camera soon came into view and something about Lee suggested that she was somehow familiar to him. That the backdrop of her recording suggested she was located not only nearby, but somehow, she was part of a larger group.

Lee clenched his jaw, and Carley heard the sound of grinding teeth. She wrapped her hand around his wrist.

"Ben and I will go ahead," she whispered. "Make sure it's safe."

He nodded and Carley strained to keep from looking away; his stare was cold, grim, and furious. Yet when he spoke, he maintained a calm, appreciative tone.

"Be careful," he said.


	20. I'm Not Sleeping (Alone Again)

**The Journalist**

**Chapter 20**

**I'm Not Sleeping (Alone Again)**

She inspected their inventory, catalogued their supplies and shot her flashlight's beam wherever light could reach. As far as she could tell, their camp saw no signs of unusual entries and all of their stock was unaccounted for. The motel was safe.

She pointed the flashlight out toward the woods and waved her hand in front of it three times—all clear, she communicated. Ben would copy the message all the same from where she left him in the woods. She waited for his response, but as the seconds grew longer, she grew cautious. She flashed the signal once again. Maybe he missed it the first time, she thought, but even struggling night vision in pitch black dark provided her not even the foggiest semblance of Ben's light. Anxious, Carley hustled toward their perimeter and drew her gun. She peaked over the fence, flashlight supporting her hand holding the gun, when Ben popped out of the woods across the street.

"Jesus, Ben," Carley said.

"Sorry," he said. "Flashlight's not working."

"What?" She traded flashlights with Ben and turned his over as he held her light. "I checked this before I handed it to you," she said. "You saw me light it. Did you hear Lee behind you?"

"I heard them coming, yeah."

Carley whistled once as she flipped the flashlight over. She heard a lower-pitched whistle come from the woods as she pried the lid off the standard flashlight. She squinted.

"Batteries are in backwards..." Carley said, squinting.

"What?" Ben replied, disbelievingly.

"Did you do something to this?"

"I—uh—dropped it."

"And the batteries came out?"

"Yeah."

Though she could scarcely see him in the dark, she stared at him somberly. "Ben," she said, her voice stern, dissatisfied and concerned.

"Sorry, it's—it's been a long day, okay?"

Carley exhaled. "Yeah, I hear you."

"Carley!"

They both turned to see Lee emerge from the woods.

"Everything's clear," Carley called out. "No sign of them."

The group remained cautious with their return, despite Carley's certainty that the motel was safe for the time being. Then there was the added security perk of knowing Jolene—the woman in the video—was dead, which Lee relayed to her.

But that hopeful thought was quickly squashed knowing there were more of her people lurking out in these woods. The potential fear of dozens upon dozens of raiders knew of their holdout was more than enough to prevent her from finding sleep on top of the hysteria that occurred that day. How many could be watching them now? What were they waiting for?

Carley sighed and glanced in Clementine's direction. The girl squirmed, tossing again in bed.

Carley was never good with kids. It's not that she didn't like them. She just didn't know how to handle them. Somewhere between trying to be nice and trying to act like a role model, something in her never clicked when it came to kids.

But now as she lay in bed, Clementine next to her feigning sleep, Carley felt raw urge tugging at her to keep this little girl safe. She always looked so calm, always so introspective, so soft-spoken. This little girl, with her LA Dodgers cap loosely hugging the crown of her head and her walkie-talkie on the nightstand, would grow up in a world knowing and experiencing traumas and losses. There was hope here, Carley saw, by how the girl kept her treasures and how she mirrored Lee in "doing the right thing;" how she quietly wanted to make sure everyone got a slice of the proverbial pie and how she shied away from arguments. She was a ray of light, a beacon of hope in this otherwise unjust world.

But even at night, hope had trouble sleeping.

Maybe it was because they all decided to turn in early for the night. Maybe it was because Lee wasn't there or Clementine wasn't in her room. Maybe it was other, darker things plaguing her. There wasn't a shortage of those.

Whatever it was, Carley knew that sitting in the darkness, letting it eat at her wasn't the most conducive of coping mechanisms.

"Clementine," Carley whispered. "You awake?"

"Uh-huh," the girl answered, her back facing Carley. "I can't sleep."

"What are you thinking about?"

Clementine chewed on her answer. "How do you know I'm thinking?"

"I know when I have trouble sleeping, it's because I can't stop thinking," Carley answered gently.

"Oh. Well… I saw you have a calendar." The moon outside lit the room just enough for Carley to see Clementine stretch out her hand toward the nightstand, where the calendar hung just above it.

"I do," Carley said as she reached out and stroked Clementine's hair.

"My birthday is coming up soon."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I'm turning nine."

"We should tell everyone. Have a party, right?"

"Mmm, I don't really wanna make a big deal out of it."

"How about we make a little deal out of it?"

"...A little deal will be nice."

Carley smiled and reached out and patted Clementine by the hat. "You don't take that thing off, do you?"

"I'm scared I'll lose it again."

"Ah."

The conversation lapsed into momentary silence.

"Carley?"

"Yeah?"

"Can… can you hold me?" Clementine asked eventually, her voice very timid. "I know the monsters won't get me but... I feel safer that way," she said.

"Of course, kiddo," Carley said.

She scooted closer to the girl and wrapped an arm around her, her hand holding onto Clementine's. The feeling was foreign and she admitted she didn't quite know how to hold onto a child. But Clementine made it easy, scooting into her like a puppy would burrow into its newfound owner. Clementine's warmth snuggled into her and it felt so right for Carley to wrap an arm over her and hold her close.

"You're not bad, right?" Clementine quietly asked.

"Do you think I'm bad?" Carley responded.

"No..."

"Why did you ask?"

"Well, bad people do bad things, right?"

Carley chose her words carefully. "Usually, yes, but not all the time. Sometimes bad people do good things. And sometimes good people do bad things."

"Oh. How do you tell who are the good guys and who are the bad guys then?"

"It can be hard to sometimes. Is this about the St. Johns?"

"Kind of," Clementine muttered into her pillow.

"They seemed like good people at first, huh?"

"Uh-huh. We were tricked."

"We were."

"Sometimes Duck likes to play tricks on me. Sometimes it's funny but this wasn't funny. It was scary."

"And you were very brave," Carley reassured.

"Not really. Lee... Lee did scary things too."

"Lee did what he had to to protect you."

"How do I know I'm not being tricked?"

Carley considered this. If it were Lee or Lilly or a news source or anyone else, Carley would have told her the truth: that you never really know who the bad guys are and that everyone puts up a front. Everyone wants to look like a good guy, wants to _be_ the good guy. But this was a terrified eight-year-old girl. She didn't need ambiguity and a reality check. She needed security and warmth and love.

"Because the good guys will always help each other out," Carley said. "We count on each other."

\---

She felt someone watching her.

The room remained dark. No footsteps softly patted on the tough, stained carpet; there was a soft light and a hazy shadow creeping on the walls, she could discern from her closed eye. The only foreign movement she observed was breathing—Clementine's breathing. But she felt eyes on her, staring at her. Her body tensed at the discomfort but she forced air through her lungs in fake calm as she opened her eyes. Slowly, she lifted herself up, careful not to disturb Clementine, and a sudden spark ignited. She squinted as the room lit dimly with candlelight. Carley quickly recognized Lee leaning in the doorway of the adjoining hallway their rooms shared.

"Shh," she told him.

He nodded. She sat up a little more, lifting her legs out from under the covers and tucking them beneath her so she sat cross-legged.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he whispered.

She shook her head and gestured him toward the bed. "I wasn't really sleeping," she said.

As he approached, she took the candle holder from him and placed it on the nightstand. She felt the bed sink down beneath her as he sat.

Maybe the flickering candlelight and all its displeasure perpetuated her impression of him, but Lee looked horrible. Horrifying, horrified, some conjugation of the word horrid. While each word held its own meaning, Lee epitomized it. The light of candle danced sharply along his face, lurking in an unnatural incandescence, toying gracefully with the graceless grievances he endured in that brutal fight. Where haunting brightness didn't carve, shadows crept, stalking heavily under his eyes, around his nose and mouth, and around his forehead with cutting intensity, too coarse for someone struggling to sand rough edges.

He didn't speak.

"How's Lilly?" Carley asked. She gestured out past the window where Lilly kept watch.

"I don't really know. I stayed with her, but she's not saying much."

"I'm sure she appreciates you being there," Carley said. "So thank you."

"Uh-huh." He looked up, facing the blank wall ahead of him. "Thanks for looking after Clem while I was with her."

"Don't worry about it."

He didn't say anything back, and she found herself helpless. He didn't deserve this, and part of her found herself leaping to the conclusion that none of them deserved this... this brutal world and moral and survivalist inconsistencies. But here was Lee Everett, professor of history, convicted murderer, messenger extraordinaire, official arbiter of an apocalypse survivors' group, and self-appointed guardian of an eight-year-old girl, taking the physical punches. Doing the dirty work, getting the short end of the stick without complaint, an honest to God man who walked the fine line between appreciating complacency and wanting—and _doing_ —more.

She admired him.

And it hurt her to see him this beaten.

"What happened?" she asked. "At the farm?"

He shook his head.

She didn't need to know what happened. She had the gist of what happened, as much as she would like the details. The St. Johns, Larry, Mark... the most she gathered was Mark getting shot by bandits and the St. Johns taking his legs for dinner. Whatever happened to Larry, Carley didn't know, but she suspected his death involved, and possibly implicated, Lee and Kenny more—if not as much—as it did the St. Johns.

Her inquiry was not for her sake. It was for his. He needed to talk.

Carley scooted forward so that she sat next to him, their knees touching. She could see the cut on his lip and bruises slowly coloring his cheeks. Bandages once again wrapped over his knuckles—bloodied knuckles—which burned a dull red on both hands, joining the pink scars that raced up his forearm.

"Lee?" she said.

He turned toward her. His expression was different from how it had been in the forest earlier as they fled from the dairy farm. It wasn't desperate or fueled with fury or fear. That adrenaline long since faded. The shine in his eyes did not speak so bleakly as to be forlorn as much as it did exhaustion.

She frowned. She thought she saw his lip quiver as she quietly took a deep breath and rested her head on his shoulder. He leaned into her and wrapped an arm around her waist. She felt his body tremble once, then twice.

"You're not a bad man," she said.

"I beat the shit out of him, Car," he muttered. "And I killed the other two. _I_ killed them."

"You were protecting us," she said.

He shook his head, still resting atop her shoulder. "No," he said. "I _couldn't_ protect us. No one could. I snapped. Like... like—"

"No. Don't do this," Carley said, her hand atop his forearm. "This was different. This was nothing like with the senator."

"I couldn't stop. I barely stopped this time."

She pulled away from him, her hands holding his shoulders at arm's length. She forced eye contact with him.

"Do you want me to tell you 'at least you stopped'?"

"What?"

"'At least you stopped,' right? That's not going to make you feel better," she said gently. "And I'm not going to humor you. You stopped because I stepped in, and how that compares with the senator is fuzzy to me. So maybe it's haunting you—and we're all being haunted by something—but you're not the same person as you were before this," she pressed. "None of us are, and neither is this world and nor are its rules. We help each other."

"And how am I supposed to take care of Clem if I can't even take care of me?" Lee said.

"We're here for each other," Carley said. "You don't have to do any of this alone. I'm here for you."

He exhaled, his eyes closing and she felt his shoulders relax beneath her hands.

"You're the only who really knows," he said. He turned his head out toward the window. Lilly sat outside, atop the RV, keeping watch. "I worry about them knowing," he said. "I know you said the past is the past up but... now more than ever, I think that'll be do or die for me. For us."

"...I do, too," she admitted.

She reached forward and wrapped one of his hands in hers. He leaned toward her, resting his head on her shoulder. Outside, she finally heard rain hitting the roof of the motel. Lightning briefly brightened the room and Carley saw Clementine tense as thunder briefly struck.

Finally, Lee spoke, lifting his head from her shoulder. "Clem and I should get back to our room," he said. "I don't want to impose."

"Impose?" Carley scoffed teasingly. "Please." She smiled, seeing even a ghost of a smile on his lips. "You really want to move her?" Carley added, gestured toward Clementine.

His smile sobered. "Then I... I guess I'll leave her with you," he settled, dejected.

"Leave her with me? You say that like _you_ 're leaving," Carley added.

Lee looked down at the mattress they sat on. "It's a full-sized bed."

"It will be if you stay," she joked, but her smile quickly sobered. "Stay. I'll relieve Lilly early."

She watched him heave his shoulders up and down in exhaustion, but she knew he wanted this. She heard the sound of shoes hitting the carpet as he kicked off his boots, then removed his leather jacket and his red button down. He leaned over and crawled to Clementine's other side as Carley gently pulled her a little in her direction. But as Lee settled down next to her, Clementine grabbed at his shirt and pulled herself to rest on his chest.

But as she stood up from the bed, looking out past the window where Lilly kept watch, assaulted by the rainfall with a cheap umbrella for shelter, Lee grabbed her by the crook of her elbow.

She turned. His eyes were pleading, and he tugged her gently back down toward the bed.

She didn't protest.


	21. (Count Your Blessings) On One Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me have this moment of chill before "Long Road Ahead," okay?
> 
> Last three chapter titles (including this one) were based off of Alexisonfire's song "Boiled Frogs." I'm particularly fond of (former Alexisonfire frontmant and current solo artist under the name City and Colour) Dallas Green's acoustic cover for the song. Sorry to be music-bombing you guys, but 90 percent of inspiration is drawn from music. Sets the tone. Good stuff.

 

**The Journalist**

**Chapter 21**

**(Count Your Blessings) On One Hand**

She felt alone in this.

Whatever happened back at the farm, whatever happened between Lilly and Kenny and Larry and Mark changed their entire group dynamic. Lilly and Kenny refused to speak. Kenny spoke only to Lee when he had to, and even then Carley could see it was with much reservation. Lilly grew distant and her temper increasingly shortened with every argument. The slightest provocation set either of them off, and the palpable stress added to the burdening unease on everyone's shoulders.

Their one moment of solace in the days following the events at the farm and the moment came with some kind of twisted irony.

As she turned in for the morning after another night's worth of watch, she carved another slash mark through the calendar on her wall. Today was the last day of October. _Happy Halloween!_ the print in the box read, as if a small type font and italics could convey the spooky excitement of an inanimate object. For all of what was left of her sanity, the calendar may have been grateful to not have been sacrificed to feed the camp's cooking fire yet. Even the exclamation point read cheerier than the group's dispositions toward one another.

She glanced out the window. Sunlight only scarcely penetrated through that day's cloudy forecast. Kenny sat outside with Itchy and Scratchy, the taxidermied cat and rodent, surrounding either side of him. In a few short hours, while Carley attempted sleep, everyone else would wake and get to whatever timekilling tasks lay ahead. For Lee and Kenny, that was once again gleaning Macon of supplies, the latter having finally succeeding in arguing he was well enough to go on runs. Katjaa and Carley—the latter after nap—were both delegated to fixing up the wall in anticipation of an unspoken attack from some bandits. When Lilly and Carley would switch for watch later that day, Lilly would continue teaching Katjaa how to use a gun. After what happened at the farm, their de facto leader insisted with a righteous fury everyone at the very least know how to use a gun.

It was business as usual.

Until she heard Clementine tell Duck it was Halloween. The overzealous boy quickly advocated for a big meal, reminding his mom and dad of all the fun Halloween parties they used to have. It would be out of the question, Carley first assumed, but with the haul from the station wagon a couple days earlier and a gut-wrenching hike back to the St. John Dairy farm to snatch food and supplies, there was no shortage of food. If anything, much of the food they had, especially from the farm, would spoil if they didn't eat them fast enough.

And by spoil, Katjaa especially referred to Maybelle—the St. Johns' prize-winning dairy cow—who was due to die after what was apparently a botched birth of her calf. Where the calf had gone was only briefly concerning. For now, they had meat.

So that day, they slaughtered the cow.

It was a meager meal but certainly luxurious given their usually bland meals were captured in Ziploc baggies. Though such autumn treats as fresh baked cornbread, stuffing and pecan pie were missed for what was apparently a standard of Halloween feasts, the bounty they shared was worth for more than the traditionally preferred cravings. They unanimously decided to cook as needed to minimize wasted food, and their meal was laid out before them on several sheets of foil, the slices of meat adjacent to the bowls of instant mashed potatoes, canned peaches and grilled corn.

She hadn't said grace before a meal in years. But as she stared at her foil-plate in front of her, the meal plentiful for once, she found herself reciting the prayer in her head.

" _Come Lord Jesus, be our Guest; And let these gifts to us be blest. And may there be a goodly share on every table everywhere. Amen_."

But before she could reach for her plastic fork and knife, she saw Lee pick up his bottled water and raise it slightly.

"For Mark," he said.

"And Dad," said Lilly.

"Doug," Carley offered. "Glenn, too."

"And Shawn," Kenny said.

"And Mr. Parker," said Katjaa.

"Travis," said Ben. "...And all my friends."

"And for everyone to be safe," added Clementine with a smile.

"And we get lucky for more food!" Duck cheered.

"Amen," Carley heard herself whisper, and a few others muttered the interjection, others nodding.

"Let's eat!"

\---

When Carley returned from her room, a comb in one hand and her calendar in the other, she saw the seat across from where she had sat was empty. She looked up—Lilly had taken to watch atop the balcony, serving as Ben's second who remained over the RV. The campfire, the rest of the group's centerpiece, glowed a dying orange, a gently burning against the pastel, flesh-colored strokes of the twilight sky. As she took her place, mindful of whatever topic of conversation the rest of the group had moved on to, she gestured, brush in hand, for Clementine to bring her stool between Carley's legs.

"Ben," Katjaa said. "What about you? Any girlfriends back home in Stone Mountain?"

He shook his head but managed a nervous chuckle. "No, haha," he said. "I mean there was this one person I liked but they just got out of this crazy breakup. I mean I hope they're okay now, but there's no way of really knowing, you know? It sounds dumb, maybe, but I miss my phone. The Internet. I'm so used to seeing or talking to so many people, and now, well, I guess it's you guys—not that that's a bad thing."

Lee nodded. "You know, for classes I used to stress the importance of communicating by assigning them this project I called 'Rolling Blackout.'"

"Sounds dramatic," Ben said.

"Kids hated it," Lee added. "But it was an I-look-forward-to-hating-it kind of thing. They were assigned to abstain from technology as long as it didn't effect their coursework. Computer were okay but no internet, no phones, no news, no newspapers, no TV. Only word of mouth. All of it was under the honor system—I couldn't go home with them and see whether or not they really followed the terms of the project—but you could tell my students were uneasy two days into the project. Dressed in all the wrong clothes for the weather, completely of the loop when it came to the news, always a couple hours or days behind on the latest event."

"Wait, so you were a teacher, Lee?" Kenny said. "God, I didn't know that. No one won that pool."

"Pool?" Lee asked.

"You're the only one who never really talked about the old days," Katjaa said. "Larry called you Mr. Mysterious, then Mark turned it into Mysterious-Lee."

"Witty," Carley remarked, still brushing Clementine's hair.

"Started a pool about what you did before shit hit the fan," Kenny continued. "Mark bet you were a security guard or some kinda small-town cop. Larry thought the opposite—that you were an escaped convict, hah! I bet you were one of them weird specialist scientist types. Like someone on the Discovery or History Channel."

"I thought you were a counselor," Katjaa added.

"Oh." He swallowed. "Yeah, I was a teacher."

"What did you teach? Where?"

"I, uh, taught history."

"No shit!" Kenny joked. "See, the History Channel?"

"Did you teach high school?" Ben asked.

"No."

"Grade school then?" asked Katjaa.

"No."

"Where did you teach?" 

"I taught in Athens."

"Not like at UGA or anything, right?" Ben chuckled.

Lee's lips thinned, pursing them tightly. "Yeah. At UGA."

"You were a professor?" Katjaa said.

"Wow, we got ourselves an educated man here," said Kenny. "PhD and everything?"

"Mmhm."

"Hey, wait," Ben said. "A history professor? You know one of my friends--used to be our drum major-- went there and he told me about this weird murder. So you must've heard about that professor who—"

"Clem," Carley said, just loud enough to interrupt Ben. "The fire's looking a little low. You wanna go ahead and toss this in here?"

She held up the calendar she brought with her from her room.

Clementine looked at her, her eyes wide.

"Isn't this is our last calendar," she said.

"We'll find more," Carley said.

"I think the pharmacy had some," Lee remarked. "In the office. I'll bring it back on our next run."

Clementine looked from Lee and then to the calendar. She glanced only briefly at the October month before flipping the page to November.

"You got it?" Carley whispered to her.

"Mmhm... just a few more days." And she tossed the calendar into the fire, its corners turning a slow, dark black as the fire consumed it.

The group all stared at it quietly, the conversation dulled.

A sharp whistle—low-pitched before reaching high in intensity—pierced through the air and the group all glanced upwards to see Lilly, rifle raised and pointing beyond their perimeter toward the forest. The group instantly ducked down. Kenny quashed out the fire—the calendar only partially burned—leaving the group in darkness, scarcely a portion of the sun peeking over the horizon. Katjaa hustled the kids into the RV, the safest place within distance while Carley, quickly withdrawing Glock, scooted toward the rear of the RV while Lee took the hood. Kenny hustled between makeshift cover for an angle near the fence and Ben snuck to the back of the motel, Carley having whispered to him to watch the back wall.

"How many?" Lee called up to Lilly.

"Too dark to tell!" she whispered back, her rifle raised. "Say something!" she urged him.

"We see you!" Lee yelled. "Turn around and go back! You're outgunned!"

"You think so?!" a voice called out.

"Cover!" Lilly warned.

Carley snuck backwards, allowing the butt of the RV to cover her as she heard a loud barrage of rattling. She heard at least two automatic weapons—possibly semiautomatic—and, if she wasn't mistaken, a single-shot weapon sound off. Chemical smoke filled the air and the usual, unremarkable ringing that followed from gunfire pitched steadily in her ears. She swallowed instinctively and glanced up toward Lilly. She was crouched low now, her gun still raised.

"Y'all fucked with them farmers, didn't ya?" a voice shouted from over the fence. "We was looking to make deals with them. They had food and now we got nothing!"

"They were cannibals!" Lee shouted. "That food you probably ate could've been your dead friends!"

"Like I give a fuck! More for me anyhow! This is survival of the fittest!"

Carley turned up to Lilly. "Can you get a shot?" she mouthed, gesturing with her own weapon.

Lilly shook her head.

"Who are you?!" Lee shouted back, craning his head over the RV.

"Y'all call us bandits, huh? That's what Jolene said anyways. Before you assholes killed her, that right?"

"That wasn't me. That was one of the St. Johns."

"You were with him! That's right, we seen you. We caught your glasses-friend with an arrow. How he doin' by the way?"

"Peachy," Lee said. He looked to Carley, his eyes wide, gesturing for her to speak.

She deepened her voice, trying to get it Mark's octave. "Left me with a nice battle scar, fellas!" she faked.

"Plenty more where that came from, pal!" The bandit cleared his throat. "So the way I see it," the bandit called out, "is you fuckers best give us all your stash—food, supplies, medicine, h—hell yeah, and your women and children—cuz we know ya'll got some—and we leave ya'll alone. Don't worry, we'll bring the purties back to ya."

Carley bit down on her jaw.

"Enticing," Lee drawled. "How about if you lay one hand on any of our people, I will royally beat the shit out of you!" Lee called back.

"Bring it on!"

"Hop your crusty ass over the fence then!" Lee shouted.

Both Lee and Carley turned toward Lilly. Though she had one hand on the trigger guard and another holding steadying her rifle, four of her fingers on the latter hand were wiggling. Then she stopped, balled her hand into a fist, and spread all four fingers wide and waved.

"Lights!" Lee shouted.

A bright flash lit up the night as Kenny keyed the ignition to two of the cars in the parking lot. Holes drilled in the fence allowed for the lights, facing the street, to seep through, LED high beams powered on. There were groans of complaints-at least five different men, Carley saw, as she peaked out over the RV to see over the fence. The bandits, suddenly exposed in the street, were masked and held weapons as they shielded their eyes from the bright lights.

"Turn around now!" Lee shouted. "Or we will fire upon you!"

She heard a bandit growl and fast footsteps. A shot rang out, then two, then three, and then four. Carley looked up to see smoke drifting from the barrel of Lilly's gun. Then—

"One's over! Port side!" Kenny shouted.

Port. Left, Carley quickly saw. The bandit hopped the fence—she saw him wince as he toppled over the barbed wire—and quickly get up and draw a handgun. Carley look up toward Lilly, but the bandit easily stood in Lilly's blind spot. She couldn't get the shot.

"Keep an eye on the street!" Kenny shouted to Lilly. "Lee-"

Carley turned and saw Lee charging for the bandit. Lee raised an arm and jabbed the bandit in the shoulder as he charged, knocking at his arm. The gun fired into the air, missing Lee as Lee grabbed the lanky bandit by the collar and shoved him against the fence.

"No, man, no!" the bandit yelled just as Lee drew a fist punched him once, then twice before Carley ran up behind Lee.

"Lee!" she shouted. She grabbed at his shoulders, managed to pull him off of the bandit, and then dragged the bandit away from Lee and down onto the ground.

She drew her gun, pulled back the hammer, aimed and-

And saw wide, terrified eyes peeping up at her from beneath the ski mask.

She couldn't do it.

She couldn't—

She fired.

The night was quiet. She only heard Lee's heavy breathing, distant, it seemed compared to the faint ringing in her ears.

"Ya'll ain't seen the last of us!" the same bandit leader still yelled from the woods. "Ya'll can't even come close to the numbers we got!"

"Take your dead!" Lee shouted. "Kill the lights!" he added, turning to Kenny.

"Lee, what the fuck?!" Lilly yelled back, clearly disagreeing.

"You think I'm stupid?!" the bandit yelled from within the woods. "I'll leave them there to rot! Maybe some of them biters will feast in front of your motel!"

And again, there was quiet. This time, it lasted. The air remained still. The smoke dissipated. The ringing had stopped. She heard and felt only a slight cool breeze whisking through the trees, toying through the forests' leaves as it tickling her skin and played with her hair.

"Clear," Lilly said. She shouldered her rifle. "Lee, _I_ call the shots here. Not you."

"Quit riding his ass," Kenny said, joining Lee and Carley by the left-side fence. "Like he can read whatever spirit-finger-jazz-hand code you use in this dark."

"I got her meaning," Lee said.

"Fine, whatever," Lilly said. "Just get out there and burn those bodies. We need to make a defensive plan. Meeting straight after you finish, under the RV sunshade. Ben," she added, her voice hardening as she turned toward the teenager, standing at the rear of the motel, "I want you to tell me _everything_ you know about these bandits."

"I'll go grab the lighter," Kenny said to Lee. He pointed to the body of the bandit Carley killed, sprawled on the parking lot ground. "You wanna use this guy as base for burning 'em?"

"Yeah," Lee said, nodding. He passed Carley as he made toward the gates to the get to the outside of their perimeter, but stopped suddenly and turned to face her.

"You okay?" he asked her, his voice heavy.

She couldn't find the words to answer him, the slaughter of the body hypnotizing her. The bright red, the  _meat,_ the explosive mixture of the bandit's fragmented pieces and his ski mask made him unidentifiable. Yet those wide eyes-- a split second switching from fury and war-raved fervor to absolute fear-- had permeated itself in her mind. This wasn't like downing a walker. It was nothing like that.

"It's not easy," Lee said, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"No," she disagreed. "It's not hard."


	22. Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow, Too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, episode 3. *clutches heart*
> 
> Music: "Waking Up" - Explosions in the Sky, from the Lone Survivor Original Motion Picture Soundtrack.
> 
> Setting: Beginning of Episode 3, Long Road Ahead, so about a week after the last chapter.

 

**The Journalist**

**Chapter 22**

**Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow, Too.**

"Going through this again, guys," Lilly said with exhaustion. "Runs and hunts are limited to a mile radius from the camp. I don't want any patterns here. If the bandits start picking up we send people out on runs just before noon every day, things can get ugly real fast. When it comes to watch, I want two people—one of the RV, one atop the balcony—at all times, with shifts overlapping. "

Carley turned to Ben. "You got a watch?" she asked him. "To keep time?"

"No."

"Here. You can borrow mine. That way you know when your shift's ended and I can take over for you." She removed her silver pocket watch from her pocket and offered it to him.

"Thanks," he said.

They all gathered beneath the sunshade of the RV. Those who sat leaned forward, hunched forward, elbows on knees and shoulders tense. Those who stood remained wary, arms crossed over their chests and a grim expression on their faces. Only the kids were absent—Duck entertaining himself with toy soldiers and Clementine with a kids chapter book.

"Food, supplies, weapons and ammo will be accounted for by me," Lilly continued. "I don't care about your personal effects, but some things _are_ going to be assigned— _flashlights_ , for example."

Carley raised an eyebrow, curious.

"Something you wanna say, Carley?" Lilly asked, turning to her.

"Not particularly."

"I bet." She reached out a hand. "I'm going to need your gun anyways."

"What? You're disarming me?"

"Not just you. I need to keep track of our weapon and ammo supplies and keeping you armed will only mess with my counts."

"I haven't fired a round since the bandit raid!" Carley argued.

"And on that day _and_ the 24 hours leading up it, you've fired thrice. You're mostly on watch anyways, so I'm sticking you with the rifle."

"Just give it to her, Car," Lee said, exhausted.

Carley narrowed her eyes and drew her pistol, handing it over.

"That wasn't so hard now, was it?" Lilly said as she tucked it into her waistband.

"So what if we need to make a getaway?" Kenny said, quickly changing subject. "I think we should at least put half our supplies in the RV."

"That piece of shit doesn't even work," Lilly scoffed.

"I'm working on it!"

"But we have to defend the camp no matter what."

"We don't even know how many of them there are! We can't hold out here forever! And if that's the case, the bandits can probably starve us out."

"And with a mile radius for runs?" Lee added. "C'mon, Lilly, that's not a lot to go on. Anywhere with anything useful's been cleared out by us already."

"You stay close to camp in case anything happens," Lilly ordered.

Lee crossed his arms, and their daily meeting ended as Kenny and Lee left for a run into town. The hour they were gone passed relatively slowly, as did always. Carley remained atop the balcony, serving as Ben's second for watch, fat use she was unarmed. Between watching the forest and checking around their rear perimeter, little captivated her attention.

Her thoughts drifted, almost unconsciously to Lee and Clementine; how she looked forward to that four hour gap every night where Lilly kept watch, leaving Lee and Carley, for once, free. How lately they spent those nights in each other's rooms and told stories about what bonehead, improvised move Lee made on a run or debate the best Samuel L. Jackson-movie-worthy quote Larry spewed ("I got charms coming out of my ass!" Lee quoted in rare, rich laughter); how they would debate past current events, about domestic, foreign and economic policies and social justice movements, which usually ended in laughter about the dunderheads in political office and where they were now; how they'd play board games and cards make shadow puppets by candlelight; how Clementine would laugh and look perplexed and in awe of the stories they told and beg they play sleepover more often, and how she'd look at both her and Lee with this childlike curiosity as if connecting the dots between her parents and she and Lee; how they'd wax philosophical about the end of the world ("I always thought global warming and pollution would smother us to death."—"Really? I was thinking aliens, followed _maybe_ by nuclear war") and how life wasn't supposed to be like this, but in a weird way, and without saying it, she was almost glad there was  _something_ , _someone_ to make this struggle worthwhile.

Would she trade these moments to guarantee the safety and security of the human race? In a heartbeat. But looking back only did so much and going back was never an option. She looked forward. She always did.

And as her eyes drifted toward Clementine and her frustrated attempts to juggle a soccer ball, Carley found herself wondering what forward would look like with Lee and Clementine.

What it would be like to raise her.

And what it would be like to be with him.

She closed her eyes and felt her heart drop into her stomach.

It was stupid, she thought, smiling to herself. It was the end of the world. She was crushing on a history professor-turned-convicted felon during the end of the world.

There was a time and place for everything and romance and the apocalypse? She didn't have many adventures with Armageddon, but her gut told her the two didn't mix too well.

She could die tomorrow.

So she would talk to him today.

And when Lee and Kenny returned, their figures easily visible from down the road, her resolve strengthened.

" _Eyes_ , Ben!" Carley shouted from across the balcony to the RV, the second she saw them coming.

"Sorry!" he said. "I—I thought it was just a shadow. Tree or something."

"You've gotta be quicker than that, Ben."

"Looks like we got the kid on watch again," she heard Kenny say as they entered the camp, approaching Lilly's door. "Might as well leave a sign out that says 'the men are gone; come and rape our women and children."

Carley rolled her eyes. _Yeah, great idea for Kenny to volunteer to go with Lee on the run then, huh?_ She exhaled at his attitude, but to avoid that, she would really need to teach Ben as much as she could about keeping watch. Play couple memory games, some speed ones, make upping his skillset just enjoyable enough for him to _want_ to progress, to want to be the best lookout he can live up to. Fear of an impending raid was one thing, getting bitched at by Kenny was another, but personal growth yielded a better and speedier increase in ability. Ben just needed to find that motivation. 

Carley turned, ready to descend the balcony stairs when she heard Kenny once again raise his voice from Lilly's room.

"The winter?! We'll freeze our asses off!"

Carley frowned, shaking her head as she abandoned her post and descended the balcony.

"You're right," Lilly said, her tone unmistakably icy as Carley approached. "You could see someone sleeping and kill one of us."

"At it again, are we?" Carley said.

"Can it, Carley," Kenny replied.

"Don't boss people around," Lilly shot back.

"I'm sorry," he said. His apologetic candor convinced no one. "But somebody needs to make executive decisions for the group though. And I don't think you're capable anymore."

"' _Can it, Carley_ ,'" Lilly mocked. "Yeah, a real _life or death_ executive decision. You better watch yourself," Lilly said now, turning to her. "He might mistake your input for unintelligible walker groans."

"Talk about the pot calling the kettle black," Kenny retorted.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're blameless while you put all of us on the spot. You think you're a cozy leader who's finally on board with delegating responsibilities, but only to the people you like while the rest of us get shut out."

Lee shook his head, stepping between the two of them. "We're strongest together," he said. "I know you think I'm on her side, but there are no sides, dammit."

Kenny crossed his arms, glaring over the threshold where only Lee and Lilly stood inside Lilly's room. "You and Lilly are real chummy now, aren't ya?" he said to Lee. "If one person's not making the executive decisions, then the group has to. What about the food situation? What about protection? What about when this place falls? Somebody's gotta be thinking about this shit."

Kenny had a point, but Carley heard this argument a dozen times over, and knew with both Kenny and Lilly's ire coming to a boiling point, no solutions would be pitched here. Instead, she looked over her shoulder, still conscious about watch since she left her post. She thought she heard Ben say something, but when she left to check up on him, he remained poised up on the RV. Probably singing a song to himself or something.

"How is this not working?" she heard Lilly say. "We have everything we need."

"Cuz of me, Lilly," said Kenny.

"No, because Lee knows how to take care of _people_ not just things."

 _Christ, way to name drop,_ Carley thought as she leaned against the wall adjacent to Lilly's doorway. Ben continued to hum his song loudly. Smart way to tune out the argument, she supposed.

"We deal with shit as it comes," Lee said. "Just like we always do."

"And when fifteen bandits hop over that wall in the middle of the night?" Kenny posited. "What then? You just gonna _deal_ with that?"

"Everything that happens to us is another excuse for you to pull this crap about leaving," Lilly said. "All I want is a week of peace, of _not_ _hearing_ _it_. Of not having to risk using our supplies in case something bigger happens."

"We wouldn't even be fighting about our medicine and supply stocks if Lee hadn't fucked up downtown."

"What do you mean?" Lilly said, her voice low but just as icy.

"Some girl came screaming out of an alley," Kenny said. "She had _dead_ hanging all over her. She was makin' enough noise that we would've had plenty of time to get what we needed. Instead, smart guy shot her."

"He what?" Lilly said.

"He put her out of her misery. Stupid."

"I couldn't let her suffer," Lee asserted.

"We're _all_ suffering," Kenny argued.

" _Some_ more than others," Lilly said.

Kenny ignored the dig. "Look, we've been putting our lives on the line doing these runs into the city. You wouldn't believe the shit we see."

"We all appreciate it, Ken," Katjaa said.

"Ya'll _should_ be giving Lee hell for not doing what needed to be done," Kenny blamed.

"It's not so _easy_ for him," Lilly said.

Carley bit down on her jaw as she peaked into the doorway. Lilly said that with such intensity, with such ambiguity she couldn't help but recall Larry knowing about Lee's past. It was possible Larry told Lilly about Lee's felony conviction, but if Lilly knew, it didn't seem she gave two shits about it.

Carley sought eye contact with Lee and turned away as soon as she'd gotten his attention. They needed to talk about this was soon as he was done here.

"Look," Kenny said. "Macon and its people aren't savable. It's not a town. It's full of walkers and the people who _were_ left are dying and wandering out onto the streets. It's hell on earth, and it's coming _this way._ "

"It's not going to be easier out on the road!" Lilly screamed.

 _Oh boy,_ Carley thought, leaning against the exterior wall of Lilly's room, out of view.

"How would you know?" Kenny said.

"What _I_ know?! I know you're not above murder! I know somebody has been _stealing_ our supplies! That's right, _stealing_! And I know the list of people I can trust here gets smaller every day! Now everybody get out!"

Carley uncrossed her arms and sighed, exhausted by Lilly's latest accusation. She was always uptight, and since the farm, she'd only tightened everyone's leash. As she joined Kenny, Katjaa and Lee—Carley saw, as she approached from behind, her Glock tucked in Lee's waistband; he must have traded the rifle for it—Lee briefly reassured everyone.

"She'll get over it," Lee said.

"She's riling everybody up otherwise," said Kenny.

"You understand, Ken," Katjaa added.

"All I know is whenever this shit happens, _I'm_ the fucking bad guy," he said. "I'd like a thank you for once. _For once!"_ He stormed off, as per usual, and Katjaa trailed in his wake, sending Lee an apologetic look before leaving Lee and Carley to stand in the parking lot.

Carley exhaled. "Things are coming to a head."

"You could say that," Lee replied. He turned to her, exhausted, and they took a few steps before stopping. She noticed dirt on his cheek—flesh, maybe. Dark enough to be dirt, yet congealed enough to be blood.

"How'd the run go?" she asked.

"Well enough. You'd think a good supply run would perk everyone up," he said. "Especially with all the precautions Lilly has on us."

"You mean rules," Carley offered.

"I see why she's made them," Lee said. "But we did end up going past that mile radius she set."

"Wow, a real hotdog," Carley grinned. "Where?"

"The pharmacy."

"Your parents'?"

He grunted. "Not much left but we cleared out what was there." He crossed his arms, his brow tightening. "Business as usual."

She frowned. "This isn't business as usual, Lee. Kenny saying you should've used the girl to your advantage and instead _killing her_ to spare her the misery isn't business as usual."

"You weren't there," he sighed. "She didn't have a chance."

She bit the inside of her lip. She would've liked a play-by-play of whatever happened, an illustration of where he was and where Kenny was and how many walkers there were and relative distance as well as an over-the-top hypothetical table of all the possible outcomes there were, but Lee wasn't like that. Unless she asked him to recall World War I strategies or to recite cause-and-effect events of the Cold War, Lee's verbal depictions of runs into town or whatever event served as the dilemma of the day were ambiguous. That's not to say they were nondescript and cold—she admired his brow and his facial expressions; sometimes the nonverbal aspect was the only way she could read him—but it left her wanting to know more. She needed to know more.

"What did Lilly mean then? By 'it's not so easy' for you compared to Kenny?"

He sighed. "I know what you're thinking. That she's alluding to my past."

"Was she?"

"No," he said. "She was alluding to... to how easy it was for Kenny to kill Larry."

"Wait,  _what?!_ " she exclaimed. "That's what-- Kenny... _killed_ Larry?

She hadn't the foggiest idea of how Larry died and how Kenny was involved. Didn't know it was that direct, that Kenny dealt the actual blow cementing Larry's death. 

"There... there has to be a reason behind this."

"There was."

But the tiredness in his voice was enough for Carley to understand he didn't want to relive that night. The longest 24 hours any of them had ever gone through and likely the most influential for their group, probably just as influential as picking up Mark from Robins AFB... just this one had more negative consequences. And like she had said, it felt like the group tension was going to climax soon. She felt a breaking point was inevitable; it would just be a matter of who would snap first: Lilly, Kenny, the bandits, or god forbid anyone else-- could be Katjaa, could be Kenny, could be her, or it could be Lee. 

"Okay," she settled. "…Are you okay?" 

He shrugged in response. "It doesn't get any easier."

"Part of me hopes it doesn't," Carley said, "about killing I mean. But another part..." She chuckled self-deprecatingly. "You considered your options. Maybe the mercy kill was the better of them."

"Yeah."

He looked up, glancing past her and she knew he looked out toward the broken balcony. Months ago, Lee (and Carley agreed with his decision) that the poor girl who'd been bitten—Glenn's "damself in distress," Carley called her—wouldn't kill herself with Carley's Glock. And now here they were, advocating euthanasia. Carley's parents, strict Lutherans, wouldn't exactly be proud.

"Well, I think you did good today," she said, her voice soft. "And I find myself thinking that most days."

He grinned, apparently caught off guard by the compliment. "Thanks."

"It's probably worth following up with Lilly about what she was saying about missing supplies." She reached up and finally wiped the smudge from his cheek. Blood. A close call with a walker probably.

"With her wound up the way she is," she continued, pointing at Lilly's room, "I don't want to see her paranoid."

"No question."

"And... I'd like to talk when you've got a minute," she said.

He glanced at his watch. "I've got a minute."

Carley exhaled, but a smile tugged at her lips in amusement. "No, I mean when you've... got a minute." Her eyes, teasing the pavement below her, suddenly found the courage to look up and lock onto his own eyes. She smiled. 

He nodded. "Sure."

She cocked her head sideways, up toward the balcony before leaving him to deal with Lilly. As she ascended the stairs, she looked over her shoulder at him. He hadn't moved and he stood their, pensive, thoughtful. She grinned at him in reassurance.

The truth was she didn't have a choice. No matter how shitty life got, no matter how bad the hand you were dealt, you had to live with it. You had to deal with it. You kept moving forward. Maybe she struggled, maybe Lee struggled, hell Kenny said it perfectly-"we're all struggling"-and sure, Lilly was right—"some more than others"— but that didn't mean this world was a dog-eat-dog competition for whose life sucked the most.

As much as she hid from Lee and as much as he hid from her, and as deep as their closets were, the skeletons a mystery draw, she knew at least one thing: Life sucked. But you can take it or leave it. There were valleys and peaks, yesterdays and tomorrows, but it was today you could only control.

The problem was what she would do with today.


	23. Plenty of Bad Ones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly how I make five second exchanges of dialogue into these wordy chapters is beyond me.
> 
> Setting: The middle of the beginning of episode 3, if that makes sense. Right after the last chapter.
> 
> Song: "Lone Survivor" again, from the Lone Survivor Motion Picture Soundtrack. It's so reassuring and hopeful, just like this game was :')))). Also "Rails and Wretches" from the TWDG soundtrack. I'm embarrassed by how much time I took digging through the OST looking for the piece that plays between Carley and Lee's in-game dialogue. Rails. Wretches. Wrekt.

 

 

 

 

**The Journalist**

**Chapter 23**

" **Plenty of Bad Ones"**

She felt the fragile balcony vibrate as he climbed the stairs, the railing she rested on jarring with each step he took. When she felt him hanging over her shoulder, she spoke, though she continued to look out past their perimeter.

"Talk to Lilly yet?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, not sounding at all disturbed by the fact she continued to gaze fixedly at the parking lot. "She thinks supplies have been walking away."

"Really?"

"There's some broken equipment too," he added with a shrug. "I'll look into it."

"Thanks for doing that," she said.

A beat of silence passed, subtle enough that Lee could have filled in the blanks if he wanted to, especially with his latest sidequest. He didn't. She knew he wanted her to speak about whatever it was she wanted to talk about, and she wanted to. But he wouldn't press the subject if she wanted to back out, cop out to some quirky observation about Ben or rant about Kenny's blame game.

She took a breath. "What I wanted to say was I've been thinking a lot." She finally turned to him. "About you."

He grinned, subtly, his shoulders sinking as he relaxed.

"I think about you, too," he said.

She felt her lips curl into a smile, looking back down to avoid eye contact. She didn't know which was harder: that part, which in immediate hindsight, seemed easy enough, or her next proposal.

"Our group is small," she said, holding back a laugh at her own segue.

" _You_ 're small."

He grinned ardently, taking their bordering acknowledgements of mutual fondness well.

She exhaled. "You're a convicted killer."

"Carley!" Lee exclaimed. "Jesus…."

"And I think people should know," she continued. "Not because they deserve to and not because you're a bad man. In fact, I think the opposite of those two things." She gently closed the small gap between them. "But people need to know because we're hanging by a thread here and I can't see Lilly talk about you without thinking it's the next thing she's going to say."

"We don't if Lilly knows," he said, taking a step closer to her.

"Your guess is as good as mine, and talking to Lilly may be the only way of finding out," she advised. "Look, you don't have to tell everyone, you don't even have to tell her, but think about who you trust and take the opportunity while you have it. I feel... I feel as if something is going to happen soon. That this tension is going to mount and the group is going to have to split up. I don't want your past being a deciding factor with what happens to you or to Clementine."

Lee sighed, his arms folded over his chest, looking at her as if contemplating what next to say. Finally, he exhaled, his arms dropping to his side. "You're probably right," he said.

"Of course I'm probably right."

"But you know why I've kept this from them for so long," he defended.

"Well, yeah," she said. "People might be pissed, and telling them might cause some trouble, but it will be a far cry from what'll happen if they don't hear it from you."

"Yeah."

That was probably the most unconvincing agreeable statement Carley ever heard.

"Lee," she said.

"Hm?"

"Everyone here likes you. Not to sound all nuts-and-bolts here, but you're one of the most valuable people in the group. It's their loss—not yours—if they take your past and use it against you. You've done so much for our camp, and toeing the line at you would be a costly mistake for everyone."

He frowned, a rebuttal absent as he stared at the cement ground. "Okay," he said.

"So you'll do it then?" she asked bluntly.

"I'll let people know." He looked up, his brow determined and his resolve convinced. "You're totally right."

"Good. I think it's for the best."

They exchanged polite smiles, his grin soft and hers utopian, each gentle as they were reassuring. They had the whole balcony to themselves, meters extending one way or the other, overlooking the motel parking lot with an angle covering the street that led into town, an over-the-shoulder shot over Ben as he sat atop the RV, and shelter and height advantage.

Height advantage. Hah. And in that split second were they exchanged their smiles, her eyes looked up to him—not in the way she was used to, of looking up _at_ people—but looking _to_. He stood nearly a head taller than her, painfully noticeable through the sudden realization of their close proximity.

And so she stood on her tiptoes, rested her hand on his chest, and pressed her lips to his cheek.

"Don't call me small," she whispered into his ear.

Lee was a man of few words, and Carley's perception of him was cemented as she took a step back. Gentle eyes and a thoughtful smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. His surprise was well-hidden, but he welcomed her boldness.

Though Duck snooped around the motel building while Clementine colored on a wood pallet, and Kenny and Katjaa were chatting near the RV, and Lilly stayed in her room, she and Lee were up here, on this balcony. Carley entertained, in a split second, that they had removed themselves from earthly hell and had risen to some kind of balcony purgatory, with a glimpse of... _something._ Something hopeful and something so reassuring as a future not so mundane and as monotonous and she didn't want to let it go.

And perhaps, in her effort to coerce some words from him, to keep this moment of peace between them, she spoke.

"Now," she said, "is there anything else you want to talk about?" she asked.

He bit down on his jaw and she sensed he wasn't done talking about his past.

"You really think people are ready to hear about me?"

"It's not a matter of ready or not," she replied. "There's never going to be a good time but there are going to be plenty of bad ones. Right now doesn't seem like one of them. But everyone's different. Who knows how each person would take it, you know? Maybe it's worth thinking about who you want to tell."

"Like when I had to distribute rations." He seemed to recall her advice, particularly about giving food to Kenny's family and the RV, as he next said. "Do you feel safe here?" Lee asked.

"Show me a bath with a heated floor in a high-rise apartment and hand me a full-bodied Malbec, and then I'll feel safe," she joked.

"Oh, I hear that. 1792 would be nice."

"1792, huh? Wonder what ol' Georgie thinks of us now."

"Undead cannibals walking the earth? Probably couldn't see a woman embedded in a warzone or a black man as a professor." He leaned forward, resting his weight on the balcony. "And you know I meant the bourbon right?"

"Of course I did."

She didn't.

She drew a breath and he withdrew from the balcony railing as she spoke. "I don't know," she said. "This place is fine but we all know that that could change any second."

"You mean the bandits."

"Well, yeah. There are walkers, but they're not exactly sentient enough to plot raids on our camp. The bandits... they're a problem. And-- I could be wrong here-- but if and when they raid, they'll be the push that comes to shove for our group."

"You think it's that bad?"

"I would like to be wrong," she said. "But it's something I know... from experience," she added. 

Lee's lips tightened, understanding her meaning. He could say 'drugstore' again, which she knew he knew entertained as the codeword for whatever plagues her, but an affirmation of that would be an outright denial of her past experiences in warzone.

So he changed the topic.

"Do you know anything about this flashlight?" he asked, unclipping the yellow flashlight from his belt loop.

Carley glanced at it briefly, noting the chipped, broken lens.

"It's broken," she said.

"I know it's broken."

"And the batteries might be in backwards."

Lee didn't seem to appreciate her joke, but she couldn't mistake the look of relief on his face, despite his somber tone. "It uses just one," he said.

"Everything should. What was the question?"

"Did you break the flashlight?"

"No."

"Okay."

"Is this about the stolen supplies?" Carley asked, but Lee shrugged noncommittally.

"You know it wasn't me," she said.

"I'm not accusing you."

She shot him a skeptical look, teasing him. 

"You've told me all I needed to know," Lee said in jest. 

"Oh really now?" she smiled. "I hope you report your suspicions about me to Her Royal Highness."

"You, uh, have any thoughts about Lilly?" he asked.

Carley scoffed. "Are you wearing a wire?" she joked.

"Come on, Carley," he said, smiling. He raised his hands. "Promise."

Carley exhaled. "Well, I mean, I worry about her. That's about it," she said. "She keeps trying to run things but it's just not working." She sighed. "I tease her, and maybe provoke her, but it's... it's not personal. It's in the interest of the group-- and for her."

He nodded, as if finding her brevity satisfying. "I'm going to look into this thing," Lee said.

Whether or not he meant Lilly's piss-poor leadership execution or the missing supplies, Carley didn't know. But either way, she told him, "Good idea." And he smiled at her before leaving, glancing once over his shoulder at her before descending the stairs.

\---

She liked the balcony. High up, sheltered, and not as exposed as the RV, where poor Ben Paul sat occasionally getting grilled by either Kenny or Lee for something. The kid was on edge—always seemed to be—and every now and again the calm, quiet, cool air would be interrupted by a pitchy protest from the kid.

"Kenny!" Carley yelled out once. "Give him a break or you take up watch duty."

"I don't see you risking your neck going out on runs."

"What does that have to do with anything? Look, no one's stopping you from runs or watch, but I'm sure if Ben's not doing a satisfactory job, he would be more than happy if you filled in for him."

Kenny shook his head and returned to working on the RV, its hood popped open. Carley scanned the motel parking lot for what could have easily been the hundredth time that day. Lee and Duck were the only ones actively moving around the camp. She felt the balcony shake as the former approached her once again.

"Hey, Car," Lee started. "Do you, uh, have any chalk that I can borrow?"

Carley raised an eyebrow. "What, Clementine holding out on you?"

"So you don't have any?"

"No.... Why would I?"

Lee held up both hands. "Just asking around. Uh, Speaking of, I, uh, talked to Clementine about things."

Carley nodded, slowly. "How'd she handle it? This has to be, what, the third time you've gone over this with her? There are only so many ways you can tell an eight-year-old her guardian is a felon."

He shrugged. "I don't know. She's tough to read."

"She adores you," Carley reassured. "Don't worry."

He nodded. "I also talked to Kenny about who I am."

She suppressed an internal 'yikes.' "And?" she asked.

"I don't know." He shrugged. "Feels like I just gave him ammo if we ever have to make any tough decisions when it comes to a head count."

"Ah. Well. Don't worry. You guys have been through a lot together."

"And I talked to Katjaa."

"How'd she take it?"

"She was fine, I guess, but I think she's more upset about Kenny." He crossed his arms, surely exhausted as he rolled his eyes. From what Carley knew, Kenny and Katjaa were having couple's troubles for the past week, particularly over his attitude.

"Because of the St. Johns?" Carley asked. "What exactly did he do back there? Exactly-exactly," she added.

"Don't you start now," he cautioned.

Carley frowned. "Lee, I don't know how long everyone's going to keep me—and Ben—out of the loop about the St. Johns, but I think I have a right to know about what happened, especially with Larry, Lilly, and Kenny."

"It's better if you don't know all the details. You might end up picking a side."

"Ah, so there are sides now. Lee, I think you would agree with me when I say the democratic process is one best accomplished through the freedom of information, right? I can make my own decisions."

"I know you can. It's just... this might cause problems."

"Lee."

He exhaled. "I'll tell you later. Hopefully after all this stolen supplies stuff blows over."

"Whatever it is, it's really put a rift between you, Lilly, and Kenny."

"You don't have to tell me twice." He turned and leaned forward on the balcony railing. "But...I did tell Lilly about me."

"Oh."

"You were right," he said, turning to her. "She and Larry spoke, obviously. She was all right though."

"Well, you're about all she's got left. To trust I mean."

He sighed. "Yeah. Maybe. But I don't think I'm going to tell Ben or Duck. Duck for obvious reasons but Ben... kid's too new. Not quite sure if I've got a read on him yet."

"That's fair."

He nodded. "I'll talk to you later."

"I'll talk to _you_ later."

He was halfway down the stairs when she saw him turn around and come back up.

"Hey, Car," he said.

"Yeah, Lee?" She squinted. "Car. Lee. Carlee."

"What?"

"No, uh, nothing, nevermind. What's up?"

"You mind watching my back for a bit? I'm gonna take a step out past the fence. Thought I saw something fishy out there."

"Sure. You have my Glock right?"

"Yeah."

"Then you'll be fine. Ben's got the better vantage point anyways."

Lee gives her a look of wariness.

"But if it makes you feel better, I'll come down from the balcony."

She followed Lee downstairs, noting how casually he kept her Glock tucked in his waistband. It suited him, she thought. But as he approached the dumpster gates, Kenny called her name.

"I'll be back," she said.

"Go ahead," he said. "I shouldn't be long."

When Carley approached Kenny, he told her to tell Ben to get off the RV.

"Why?" Carley asked.

"It'll only take a second," Kenny said.

Carley sighed. "Ben, get off the RV."

"But if Lilly catches me-"

"Kenny, it better be quick," Carley said.

"Fine, kid," Kenny said to Ben. "Stay on the RV. You," he said, now pointing to Carley, "Duck, Clementine! Come over here!"

The kids quickly joined up, though Duck seemed to be a little hesitant from where he stood playing 'lookout' at the front gate. Carley frowned, seeing Lee disappear past the fence, either turning toward a blind spot or having crouched down.

Suddenly, she heard rumbling and Carley turned to see the RV running.

"See?" Kenny said proudly. "Would ya get a load of that? Hey, Lee, check this out!"

Carley turned and saw Lee pushing the gates back in position, a paper bag she didn't recall him holding earlier in one hand.

"That the RV?" Lee yelled back.

"Got her running. Not much left in her but it's running all right."

"Good. I'll, uh, I'll look at it in a minute."

Carley watched him walk somberly toward Lilly's room. He turned, looking over his shoulder, catching her eye, before closing the door behind him.

"What do you think that's about?" Kenny asked after pulling the keys from the RV's ignition.

"Uh... guys..." Ben said, standing up from his seated position atop the RV. "I... I think we've got trouble." He shouldered the rifle just as an arrow sailed in the direction of the RV, barely missing them.

"Nobody move!" a harsh voice called out. "I've got rifles trained on each of you! Hands on your head _now_ and get on your knees!"


	24. Keep Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost there :')

 

 

**The Journalist**

**Chapter 24**

**Keep Face**

" _You've gotta keep face."_

It was Journalism 101. As a media professional, her job was to inform the public of the news. She said she was a reporter—she reported news after all—but even in both radio and in television, and even in print, her job in the most blatant of terms was to inform the public of news, to chronicle the daily goings-on of current events , whether that extended to hard-hitting investigative journalism to casual announcements that bordered on public relations. However she chose to communicate, she was ultimately a journalist.

In the most general of terms, journalism was mass media communication, usually chronicling news and relating it to the public.

Ideally, she communicated with the least amount of bias possible. Bias, of course, was always in the perception of the audience, and even the use of facts in context with current events paired with vocabulary and phrases in connotative understanding could skew her message. That's just how it worked. Communication was a two-way street, a perpetual series of events where parties sent and received messages, regardless of whether they be verbal, nonverbal, interpersonal, intrapersonal, or even en masse. There would always be noise, there would always be something in the way that distorted the genuineness or the disingenuousness of her message.

In the context of news, keeping face was about maintain the calm, cool, and collectiveness of a professional, to ultimately avoid perpetuating hysterics and emotions of any extreme. Facts were objective, rationalized by thought; emotions were subjective, fueled by context and empathy. She admitted relating to the audience was an important aspect in journalism, but detaching yourself from the story was just as important. _"You're a bystander,"_ she was told. _"You're a storyteller. You have no stake in this; you're not emotionally involved, so don't be."_

" _So always keep face."_

She never had trouble keeping that stoic persona. She was naturally levelheaded. Even as a child, few passions lead her errant from logic (ironically, the call to journalism was one of them), so that advice to keep face in her undergrad years went unquestioned.

But it wasn't until postgrad, when she'd gone abroad chasing dreams of chronicling and witnessing justice and courage and fights for peace firsthand did keeping face truly find value with her. That even though she was involved—and emotionally involved, never mind scarred (though she would never admit it) now—keeping face got her through everything.

Calm, cool, collected. Even in the literal and metaphorical heat of the moment, of blood boiling at hellish temperatures, of watching men transform into monsters and into demons fitting for that moment of living through hell, it was cold detachment running on growing empathy that got her through the dusty and arid years hunkering in the Middle East. As a cold blade dragged along her cheek and even colder words rode on hot breath creeping in her ear, despite pure fear racing through her, faster than thoughts looking for a way out, it was ultimately that voice echoing in her head, nagging in her ear telling her to stay calm. Don't show fear. Never show fear. Never show emotion. Stay logical. Stay practical.

It would have been one thing for the enemy, the terrorists—and boy, were they rightly named terrorists—to perpetuate the mind games, to inflict the physical torture, to _break_ _her_ and the face she took so much pride in, but it was another to have someone she called _a friend, an ally_ hurt her in this way.

Please.

Of course, years had passed since the ordeal. It was a thing of the past. Move forward. Shake it off your back, so get it off. Whatever happened then doesn't matter now. She lived her life. She found stability in a local affiliate for NPR where she started her day with half an apple, six almonds and granola. She checked her equipment for batteries and electrical sources, and took her days like she took her coffee: bitter, sweet, or bittersweet—depending on the day and what she had on hand to fill it with. Hell, if she could survive what happened to her, whatever happened to her (because she would never dare give what happened to her words), then she could survive a bunch of brainless cannibalistic monsters, human or otherwise.

It was that combination of denial, misplaced strength and pigheaded optimism that got her this far.

And she thought-- and she was close to correct in thinking so-- that it would keep her going.

"Look, we can talk about this," Carley said as one of the bandits approached her.

"You fucking deaf, bitch? Hands on your head and _on_ _your_ _knees_!"

The bandit—a man with in a grey hoodie, sunglasses, and a bandanna over his jaw and armed with a crossbow—marched toward her. Carley bit down her jaw. Her disposition infuriated as he marched toward her. She got a whiff of rotten sweat and parched breath as he hovered over, his eyes crowning sickly ravenous in the brief moment she made eye contact with him. She felt her muscles tighten as his fingers—bony and dry—wrapped around her arms and wrestled them behind her back before raising them and slamming her hands to her head. As he dragged her to where Ben, Kenny, Katjaa, Duck, and Clementine knelt down, she found her breathing short amidst all the adrenaline pumping through her veins, fear racing alongside it.

She begged herself to stay calm and to keep her face expressionless.

"Y'all better get your asses out here!" the lead bandit—a guy in a ski mask—yelled as he paced around the lot. He knew there were more of them missing. Carley wasn't sure if this was the same bandit they nearly ran into on their way to the St. John Dairy Farm about a week back. If he was, this guy was ruthless. He blew his buddy away point-blank with a shotgun; he wouldn't give two shits about some hostages and supplies. They would take what they'd need and they would leave what they don't.

"We ain't fucking around!" he screamed.

Crossbow kicked at the back of her knees, sending her kneeling down onto the pavement.

"I'm tired of waiting! Where are the rest of your people?" He turned to Kenny, pressing his gun onto the back of his head.

Kenny stayed tight-lipped.

"This your boy, trucker man?" another bandit said—a guy in a cap and aviator sunglasses. He dug pressed his revolver onto the back of Duck's head. "Ever wonder what the inside of his head looks like?"

"Dad…" Duck whimpered.

"Don't you fucking touch him!"

"Say that again, I dare ya!" Aviator yelled.

"Look, I'm sure they're coming," Ben quickly said. "They'll be out in a second, I swear!"

"You made the biggest mistake of your lives!" Ski-Mask shouted. "Enough of this bullshit! Drew! Starting putting your boot to these doors!"

"Yeah!" a few of the bandits cheered.

Carley peered around. There were only four of them. Crossbow, Ski-Mask, Aviator, and a fourth guy in an orange beanie and an airbrushed Alabama Crimson Tide sports jacket. Surely Lilly and Lee knew what was happening. Surely they were planning something. Something would happen. As much as she was loathe to rely entirely on some all but divine intervention to save their necks, this was all she could hope for.

"Hold it, asshole!"

Carley spun around. looked and saw Lee slowly approached from behind the RV, hands raised in caution and leaning forward in goodwill.

"Take it easy," Lee said, his voice calm and low. "We have more supplies. We can keep the deal going."

Carley bit down on her jaw.  _Deal?_

"Too late, shithead!" Ski-Mask yelled. "We ain't giving second chances."

"It was a mix up. We'll make it with your while," Lee pleaded.

Ski-Mask cocked his head sideways seemed to consider this. "I'm listening," he said.

"But I 've gotta know, why are you doing this? Why don't you just leave us the fuck alone?"

"Why?" Ski-Mask repeated as if it was the most incredulous question. "This fucking guy! Why? Because we gotta! That's why!"

Carley frowned. If the situation wasn't so desperate, she may have even laughed. Pathetic as the bandits were, they were the ones holding guns to her head. They were desperate; and whatever they were desperate for, regardless of what it was, they'd gotten it in their heads they would get through brute force.

"All right, all right," Lee said, hands still raised. "What will it take to reach a deal?"

"Bout twice as much as you've been giving us!."

"You got it! Done!"

"...Is that so?" The bandit lowered his gun. "Well, I suppose we ought to hash out some terms then."

"I don't like no hash," Aviator said.

"Man, shut up or I'll-—"

A thunderous crash shattered the cold and Ski-Mask froze in place for a split second before suddenly collapsing to the ground. in an instant, blood pooled out from a clean shot to the head.

"Christ!" someone shouted.

Carley had time to only briefly glance at Lilly atop the balcony, smoking rifle in hand before Carley scrambled for the gun the dead bandit leader dropped. She stood quickly and fired off two shots—clean headshots to two of the bandits, Crossbow and Aviator—before pulling the trigger three more times on Crimson Tide, but with no shot coming out from the weapon. She was out of ammo.

"Shit!"

"I gotcha, go! Go!" Lee yelled as he pulled the Glock from his waistband and covered her run to cover. She darted behind some tables, where she saw Ben scramble behind.

"Oh man, oh man, oh man," Ben muttered as she slid into cover. "Carley, what do we do?"

She heard another gunshot—Lee, firing the Glock—followed by a sharp whistle. A cheer, almost a battlecry of sorts sounded from the woods.

"Oh God, there's more of them!" Ben panicked as he peaked over their cover.

"Do you have a ny kind of weapon? Anything?" she asked him, but he only shook his head wildly.

"Think this-" she held up the pistol she grabbed from the bandits- "is a 9mm. Got any?"

"No! No, I don't!."

"Ben! Ben, calm down," she said. "We'll figure this out. Turn around." She pointed to the RV behind him, just steps away as Lee darted behind it. He looked their way, his face panicked and desperate.

"We run for the RV in three," Carley said. "Ready... _three!"_

Ben leapt forward-- only to slide back toward their cover when a bullet rushed just in front of him, striking the window to Lilly's motel room. He dove back.

"Shit," he cried.

"I'll cover you!" Lee yelled to them as Kenny ran out of Lilly's room and shoved a rifle into his hands "When I say when! Get ready!"

Carley and Ben leapt into a crouch position, waiting for Lee's signal. He aimed the rifle and fired a few shots. She didn't care for his accuracy or the number of bandits he'd taken down. She focused on him, confident he'd give them the cover they'd need. Amidst the gunfire, Carley heard the RV spring to life, Kenny having turned on the ignition.

"Now!" Lee yelled after a third shot. "Get over here! Hurry!"

She and Ben sprinted toward the RV, grateful for cover when they arrived in its shade.

"Man, you saved our asses!" Ben said once they were behind its shade.

"Just get inside!" Lee demanded.

Carley scrambled inside the RV. "Kenny, 9mm, where are they? Tell me you loaded this thing up with supplies!"

"I've got some nines stashed underneath the sink!" he yelled from the driver's seat.

"Where?! I can't find them!" Carley wrenched the cabinets open, tugging at drawers, digging through random crap the previous RV owners had stashed inside.

"Where's Kat and Duck?!" Kenny screamed.

"I don't know!"

"Right side!" Lee yelled from outside the RV. "I'll cover for them!"

Carley dug for the rounds, pressing herself against the counter as Kenny darted past her. Finally, she found the nines in a school supply box, loosely placed with a motley of other rounds. She swore as she picked out the 9mm and tucked them into her magazine.

"Lilly! Lilly, get in the RV!" Lee yelled from outside.

"Screw her, let her stay!" Kenny shouted back. Carley looked up—three more rounds she could put into this magazine—and saw Duck and Katjaa flee into the shotgun seat of the RV, both of them covered in blood and gunk, and Katjaa's head bleeding from gash on her forehead.

"Shit!" Carley said, as she glanced out the window. "Walkers incoming!" She dashed out of the RV, slamming the magazine into her Glock.

"You take left!" Lee shouted, meeting her at the door. "I've got right!"

"Gotcha!"

She fired round after round as the walkers broke through their defenses.. She couldn't spot a single bandit as she gauged her surroundings. She assumed Lee must have neutralized them. The bandits weren't a problem now, either killed by Lee's shots or were overcome by walkers—and those walkers now were few in number, but their numbers steadily increasing as more and more of them wandered into the motel parking lot. Jostling one by one through their broken perimeter, Carley easily picked them off, her adrenaline fueling her, adrenaline keeping her going, and reflexes trained well for headshots. Aim, line up the sights, take a breath and exhale while caressing the trigger—don't jerk it. Gently pull it. She was in charge, she would make her shots count, and they only ever counted when she stayed calm. And always count. Don't lose count of the shots fired; that could prove costly. Count. Aim. Breathe. Caress. Count. Aim. Breathe. Caress. Count.

"We're good! I've got a path! Let's go!" Kenny shouted, interrupting her reverie.

Lee turned and she nodded at him as she ran inside the RV.

"Lilly!" Lee yelled as he entered the RV. " Last chance! Get down here."

The RV lurched forward and Carley and Lee both spun their heads in Kenny's direction.

"Kenny—!" Lee protested, but just as the RV accelerated spurred forward, Lilly dashed inside and pulled the door closed behind her.

Kenny angrily swerved the RV out of the motel parking lot, blasting through debris and walkers alike. The passengers, all of them—the whole group now and thankfully accounted for—grabbed onto anything to hold them still as Kenny drove manically through the streets. Finally, when the road seemed clear and their drive steady, Carley collapsed onto the open seat next to Ben.

She closed her eyes and exhaled.

"Fuck."


	25. Crimes of Passion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ah. Hello, hello everyone. Here we are. I can't believe I took 8 months to post this chapter as I've had it written for... 8 months, but I couldn't really capture the *curls hand into fist* the moment, the emotion, you know, before posting it. (Plus I'm selfish and hate goodbyes lol). But I'm back! Still can't believe I spent 25 chapters on this fic. I originally planned for 15, but you know, you get carried away sometimes.
> 
> And so here we are, folks. I'm glad you guys stuck it out with me, even if I lost a ton of you on my hiatus! What's most important is that you guys were here and (hopefully) enjoyed reading The Journalist. Alerts and favs were plenty and views remained consistent as I updated on both AO3 and FFN, so I know you guys are out there and I appreciate every single one of you!
> 
> Shout out to my boy, Chuck and my girl Chelsea! To Chuck, I definitely appreciated the lengthy, in-depth discussions we had about the TWDG-verse and your honest feedback, and to Chelsea, the raw emotion that I earned from you was a blessing. Been a while since I heard from you guys, so I hope you're all doing all right!
> 
> Without further ado, the last chapter of The Journalist.

 

_**The Journalist** _

**Chapter 25**

**Crimes of Passion**

He sat bent forward, cradling his head in his hands, sweating and breathing heavily. His jaw quivered as he repeated, "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," as if it were both a soothing mantra and a verbal expression of how quickly everything went south.

Lilly hovered over him, standing and holding onto a dresser for balance—literal balance, anyways. Her face was passive, expressionless but the tension that radiated from her disturbed Carley enough to bring her to an uneasy frown. Lilly glared daggers at Ben, who unassumingly kept his eyes glued to the floor, his fingers digging into his scalp.

Finally, the teenager took a deep breath and looked up. His flushed face panicked and no amount of desire to keep calm could mask his panic.

"I'm sorry," he said to Lilly.

"Everything's fine, Ben," Carley reassured.

"Everything's _not_ fine," Lilly asserted. "We need to figure out how this happened. We just lost _everything_."

Carley glanced at Lee, where he stood near the RV door, hanging onto the cabinet and the sink counter, his expression concerned and uncertain.

"Well, we're lucky as shit to have this RV," Kenny said.

"And nobody died," Carley added.

"Kat's head is split open!" he protested.

"I'm fine!" Katjaa said.

Lilly ground her teeth. "Somebody in here cause this," she asserted. "And I'll be damned if we don't get to the bottom of it!"

"Settle down back there!" Kenny yelled. "The bandits have had our number for weeks!"

"This is different." Lilly's voice dropped to a disturbingly menacing low and she peered out from a heavy brow as she spoke. "Somebody was working with them. Whoever it was was slipping them our meds. They didn't get their last package, so they attacked!"

"Calm down back there!" Kenny yelled. "That's nuts. You got proof of any of that?"

"Lee found a bag of supplies hidden outside the wall."

"It's true," he admitted.

"So, Carley," Lilly said, and she turned toward her. Carley scowled and knew, with a resentment she could not sway, that Lilly had already made up her mind.

"Is there something you want to say?" Lilly asked her.

Carley scowled. _How dare her_. "Please," she replied.

"'Please?' Is that your excuse of a defense? We have to get it out of you then."

" _Back off_."

"You're in _no position_ to make demands."

"No position? _I'm_ in no position? Whoa, whoa, you're just pointing fingers," Carley argued.

"I didn't just come up with this. I've had my suspicions."

"Probably not the best time, Lilly," Kenny interrupted.

"If not now, when? Look at what just happened," Lilly seethed.

"Why her?" Lee asked. "This seems like a stab in the dark, Lilly. She didn't do it."

Lilly pursed her lips as she leaned forward toward Carley, squinting as if trying to read her. Carley's frown deepened.

"She's always _so eager_ to see what supplies we found," Lilly said. "She never talks about her family. She could be related to those bastards for all we know!"

"Whoa, my family's not a bunch of meth-riddled forest people!" Carley exclaimed. "They're fucking Lutheran!"

"You're not saying it wasn't you."

"It wasn't _me!_ "

"Carley's trustworthy," Lee said. "She's not a traitor, Lilly."

" _Thank you_ , Lee," Carley exhaled.

"She can fight her own battles… unless there's something going on here that implicates you both," Lilly accused.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Like, look, maybe we should, uh, vote or something like that," Ben stammered.

" _Vote?"_ Lilly rolled her eyes. " _What_?"

"Just look, Carley's a stand-up gal and maybe this is all just a mistake—"

"We need to look at the facts," Carley pressed. "Let's calm down, we'll eat, and we'll deal with it."

"Yeah, let's do that," Ben agreed.

"Let's just let it go," Lee said, his hand still pressed against the dresser for balance. "People make mistakes, and yeah, this is a fucking doozy, but it's not worth it, Lilly."

"Then what do we not forgive?" Lilly urged. "Honestly, tell me! Kenny can kill my dad; Carley can steal from us? Where's the line?"

"Lilly, stop waving the finger at everybody," Lee quickly said. "We know something's going on and we can get to the bottom of it if we keep our heads."

"I know what we found. Someone was _stealing_!"

"Nobody was stealing _anything!_ " Ben pleaded.

"And nobody's denying it was a bag of _our_ meds out there," Carley added.

"Was it both of you?" Lilly suggested.

" _What_?" Ben exclaimed.

"I've seen you two together," Lilly said, leaning over Ben as he hunched backwards, his arms, folded over his chest, pressed inwards as Lilly hovered over him. " _Was it both of you?_ "

"Look, just let me out," Ben said. "I didn't do it, but I don't like this! I don't like where it's headed."

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn't have anything to do with it."

"Lilly, lay off of him," Carley said.

Ben swallowed. "…I—"

Everyone lurched forward—"Shit!" Kenny shouted—and Carley extended her hand out to catch Ben as he nearly rocked off the seat while she dug her heels into the ground to keep from falling off. Lee and Lilly each grabbed onto the dresser in front of them—and Clementine, the poor girl, sat at the back of the RV—clutching the dinner table, her face momentarily panicked.

"What's going on up there?!" Lilly yelled.

"I hit something," Kenny answered with a groan. "We gotta stop."

Carley didn't miss Lilly's sneer. "All right, well, we can deal with this now, then," she said.

The RV slowed to a crawl and Kenny guided it to the side of the road. Poorly lubricated brake pads screeched to grinding halt, its pitch irritating enough for Carley to swallow instinctively, as if a gun had just fired and she needed to change the pressure in her ears.

"Kenny," Lee asked. "Is it safe?"

"Should be," he said. "Fuck if I know for sure. If it's not fog then it's dark."

"Everybody out," Lilly demanded.

"Lilly…" Lee growled as she moved past him.

" _Out_."

Carley huffed out a breath as she followed Lee off the RV, Ben behind her, his arms still crossed anxiously over his chest. She glanced around their perimeter as Lilly crouched and peaked under the RV. As far as 'safe' went, there wasn't much in the way of pit stops on this ceaseless two-way road, and she was sure some b-rated horror movies and campfire ghost stories were bred in these woods and in this fog. She glanced up, the stars numerous above her in the navy sky when just minutes ago she recalled it a painter's paradise, sunset fading the brushing the baby blue with lights pinks and purple before eventually fading into red… a light red, then an amber red, it's glow warm and reassuring despite the cold they felt fighting at and for the motel, losing the motel.

Who cares how the sky looked anyways? It was beautiful, picturesque—she marveled at it every night on watch. But for the sun having just set, it was unusually dark. Blue so dark it was black replaced where the moon ought to have been.

Lee gently nudged her and she looked down, glancing over her shoulder, where he stood.

"You didn't do it?" Lee breathed.

"How could you even ask me that?" she replied between grit teeth.

"I won't be mad. I trust you."

"Then trust me when I say _I didn't do it_ ," she whispered back.

"Okay, all right. Car, _I trust you_."

She felt his hand on the small of her back.

Lilly stood up and Lee immediately turned away as she told Kenny a walker was trapped underneath the vehicle. She approached Lee, Ben, and Carley, her scowl just as vindictive but even more spooky without the harsh RV lighting.

"You know what," Lilly said, looking straight at Ben, "we shouldn't just kick you out. We should hear what everybody thinks."

"I think you should chill out," Ben pleaded.

"That's a great way of dealing with losing our _home,_ our _supplies_ , everything we had in order to live! Let's all just _chill out,_ hang around." Lilly turned pensively toward one of the trees and cocked her head sideways, her gaze shooting directly to Carley threateningly.

"I'm not gonna take this," Carley said. "You can push Ben around, but you can't push me around. Frankly, I won't stand for either! Not if you're going to treat us like criminals without any evidence!"

"I'm really sorry you feel that way," Lilly said without an ounce of genuine apology in her tone. "I'm starting to think maybe it was both of you."

"No!" Ben protested.

Kenny groaned and Carley glanced over her shoulder to see him on the down on his knees, reaching under the hood of the car. "This dumb… fuck… walker."

"You okay over there?" Lee asked.

"Yeah, yeah. Son of a bitch."

"Ben," Lilly seethed. "You have no other options."

"Leave him alone," Carley yelled.

"You can tell me it was Carley and then everything will be right as rain."

"There's no way it was Carley," Lee said. "It was somebody else. It could've even been someone sneaking into our camp."

"That's ridiculous," Lilly said. "That's what you think?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Fine then. Kenny?"

"I don't know!" He continued to reach under the RV. "Fuck, just—stop—would ya?!"

"Well, your vote counts for you and Katjaa."

"We don't need all these votes!" Ben screamed. "What do I have to do for you to trust me? I'll do anything! I'll—I'll do watches for months!"

"The hell you will."

"I'll get more food! More medicine! Anything!"

"You think any of that is good now?!"

"Just let me stay!" he begged. "Please! God, please!"

"You're pathetic. Look at you."

"Stop panicking!" Lee yelled. "Seriously Ben, you need to stop and just take a breath."

"Do we need any more evidence than this?!" Lilly declared.

"Fuck evidence!" Carley shouted. "Stop treating him like this!"

"Shut _up,_ Carley! _Agh_ , I've heard enough out of you! Kenny, what's it gonna be?"

"Just give me a damn minute!"

"Ben, you have until that walker is dealt with to tell me it was _her_ and _not you_!"

"Stop this! You're torturing him!" Carley pressed.

Ben—"No!"

Lilly—"Ben!"

Carley—"Stop!"

"This is about trust and I've never trusted you!" Lilly screamed at Ben. "All of this bullshit with these bandits started when you got here!"

"No! It wasn't—I didn't—they murdered my friends too! Why would I want to help them?!"

"Tell her," Lee finally spoke. "Just do it, Ben."

"Lee, _Jesus_ ¸ who _are_ you right now?!" Carley shouted, turning to him.

"Tell her what?!" Ben pleaded. "She'll kick me out of the group!"

"We won't. We'll understand," Lee said gently.

"Tell me. _Now_."

A putrid stretching sound came from over by Kenny and the RV as wrenched the walker out from underneath the vehicle. " _There_!" he announced, dragging it by the arm to their side of the road. "I got 'im."

"Please," Ben said. "Let's just get back in the RV."

"That's not happening," Lilly stressed.

Carley bit down on her jaw. "You think you're some tough bitch, don't you?" she shot. "Like nothing can hurt you. But you're just a scared little girl. Get the fuck over it. Take a page from Lee's book and try helping somebody for once."

A sickening crack broke through the short silence that was left by Carley's attack. They all turned and saw Kenny lift his bloodied boot from the crushed, gory skull of the walker he pulled from the RV. He walked towards them, satisfied one problem was dealt with, his right boot squishing and leaving a bloodied trail as he approach.

"Now," Kenny said, "what the fuck's the problem?"

Carley turned back to face Lilly, ready for some kind of rebuttal, for her to plea her case and convince Kenny either she or Ben had committed the unspeakable horror that left them in their latest quagmire. It was almost funny that Lilly was finally trying to appeal to Kenny, that she couldn't even convince Lee and that she'd alienated herself so far from everyone else in the group to successfully entertain the survivor idea of voting someone off the group, leaving them for the wilderness as if a conflict between man and nature was any less convoluted than the conflicts within their group.

Carley turned, prepared, frustrated, and dreading Lilly's severe, unyielding and dogmatic arguments. Beneath all that tough skin Lilly liked to flaunt, there was nothing there. There was weakness, insecurity, and a need to control others because she couldn't control herself. And God, did Carley blame Lilly for dealing with all that? Newsflash, it was the end of the world! Everyone dealt with that. Everyone had their problems, had their inner demons, worried about the future and fantasized about the past. They were all different people emerging from different backstories, but Christ, that was no excuse to be a complete despot.

Carley turned, and with Kenny arriving, a new and hopefully levelheaded addition to their poor excuse of congress, she felt relieved. That maybe all of them—if Ben could calm down for a bit, of course—could allay Lilly's fears. Kenny was argumentative, yes, but he wasn't heartless. Add Lee—and thank God for Lee, to keep the peace, to consider all the options in the grandest scheme of things, to be everyone's go-to guy, the epitome of redemption and rising up from what could have been the lowest of lows—and they could be all right. This was just a bump in the road, just like all the others they had. They could just move forward. Deal with it later, but move forward for now.

Carley turned, and was suddenly struck back.

Vindictive anger shattered and she felt inexplicably numb. The ground rushed toward her, the black sky swelled from the edges of her vision, sweeping over her sight and leaving her in complete darkness as she collapsed, head crashing hard to the cold, dirt ground. Her ears were ringing—that loud, shrill ringing that wasn't the squeal of brake pads but her body's reaction to the deafening thunder of gunfire. Really close gunfire. It rang so loud. She couldn't swallow, couldn't make it go away.

She couldn't move. No part of her could move. Her muscles weren't tense, but they weren't relaxed. There was no control. Her chest felt tight. She heard a blur of voices. Then a ragged, labored struggle… a struggle to breathe. Breathe.

The black parted only just a little bit. Everything was fuzzy, blurred. Nothing concrete. Colors and shapes just fading into each other.

She tried to breathe. She could almost hear Lee telling her to breathe. To breathe with him.

The colors and shapes she thought she saw; the voices, the noise she thought she heard, of arguing, of shouting; of the RV spurring to life; of the smell of lingering gunpowder and diesel fumes; of texture of the coarse dirt beneath her… faded. It was all fading. What grounded her, what kept her going, what kept her moving forward, proof of life… it was all fading.

Breathe.

She couldn't breathe.

She felt so numb. So cold.

She couldn't feel anything.

And then, there was nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I want to thank everyone who's read, fav'd/kudos'd, and/or commented. You guys were insanely patient with me and I appreciate every single one of you. Thank you so much! Till next time perhaps! <3


End file.
